I dreamt I was walking across the high plains,
through the husk of a small American town.
The air was hazy
with distant smoke. The sun was high in a
muted, cloudless sky. The heat radiated
through my temples. I was parched, older, leathery, searching.
I came upon
a rusted-out school bus on the side of a dirt road
I walked in. The seats had been removed
from the bus. Along the left side lay
a long row of bedridden, elderly adults, comatose and naked,
each one receiving the slow drip of a tincture into the mouth:
clear nectar oozing from a carnivorous plant
hanging from the bus’s ceiling.
There were small children, also naked,
standing there in the bus. Their eyes
were covered with dark patches. As I turned
to leave, walking back down toward the road,
one of the children tugged on my leg. I turned
to address the child, our faces now nearly meeting,
and I saw that her eyes were not covered,
but removed. Two spindly black voids hung there
instead. “It's okay,” the child said to me.
“You don't need to be afraid.”
* * *
I continued down the road, the air
murky, salty, boiling, deadly.
A neon billboard with an American flag waving
shone off in the distance.
behind it loomed a giant radio tower,
hard at work transmitting,
but I knew that its broadcasts
were never meant for me to begin with.
Feb 27, 2020
Feb 27, 2020 at 2:37 AM UTC
I dreamt I was walking across the high plains,
through the husk of a small American town.
The air was hazy
with distant smoke. The sun was high in a
muted, cloudless sky. The heat radiated
through my temples. I was parched, older, leathery, searching.
I came upon
a rusted-out school bus on the side of a dirt road
I walked in. The seats had been removed
from the bus. Along the left side lay
a long row of bedridden, elderly adults, comatose and naked,
each one receiving the slow drip of a tincture into the mouth:
clear nectar oozing from a carnivorous plant
hanging from the bus’s ceiling.
There were small children, also naked,
standing there in the bus. Their eyes
were covered with dark patches. As I turned
to leave, walking back down toward the road,
one of the children tugged on my leg. I turned
to address the child, our faces now nearly meeting,
and I saw that her eyes were not covered,
but removed. Two spindly black voids hung there
instead. “It's okay,” the child said to me.
“You don't need to be afraid.”
* * *
I continued down the road, the air
murky, salty, boiling, deadly.
A neon billboard with an American flag waving
shone off in the distance.
behind it loomed a giant radio tower,
hard at work transmitting,
but I knew that its broadcasts
were never meant for me to begin with.
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