We were in this small cafe on our morning tea break Me and some of my work colleagues Someone inquired after my wellbeing How I was I motioned with my hand as if to say 'So, so" Then I said "I'm still a bit shaky" 'Why", they said, "what happened to you ?" I answered "I was in a car crash last night" "What!!!", they all said really concerned, "you shouldn't have come to work today, you should have stayed at home... you might be in shock!" Then I said 'It was only a dream'. I went on "Yea, I dreamt I was in a car crash I was driving down this terrible winding mountain road Like something you'd get over in Italy It was like a spiral staircase, going round and round All these terrible bends And the car it's getting faster and I know I'm starting to lose control So for a moment I look down trying to figure out the controls But suddenly when I look up again we've overshot a Bend And We're heading straight into a wall It's like everything goes into slow motion You know there's no avoiding it You can only brace yourself for the impact And then BAM!! POW**!!! ..... And then I can't remember what happened after that. Maybe I became unconscious"....then looking at them all around the table I said "Maybe I'm still unconscious, maybe I'm just dreaming you guys sitting here right now Maybe the dreamworld is the real world And the real world but a dream...(tapping my finger on the table) a solid dream" Then I took a sip of my coffee and said "One thing...the coffee tastes nicer over on this side".
Another nightmare dream. Break on through to the Other Side meets Adventures in the Skin Trade LoL.
the bird of paradise half truth and half lie it's not pure fiction but pure singing or intensity of the dark light
this vibration of your U(nconscios) is a floating vessel (sunk into mystery) for my dreams mine is for yours and for her and for them this is the way we meet It's scary and wonderful to recognize each other some mirrors are crazy light hides itself best in the dark and darkness hides itself best in the brightest of lights
there are too many layers of liquid meanings in this creature called life - the same way the ocean is carrying different layers of pressure and dark
the bird of paradise dissolves itself into singing cause this is the only way to meet its music a bird constantly changing the shape of its wings to accomodate danger - the danger of being alive on your own day after night
the bird of paradise exists only in poetry which distills the irrationality of life reality protects itself with boundaries for poetry not to destroy its might
Oh, hello itch, I've not missed you! Nor your pleading, uneasy, Eager smile, Wicked begging eyes, And hungry open mouth. I've quite enjoyed this past while, Lacking your insistent whispers. Your lustful face Looming round each corner of my boxed up, Broken brain - 'FRAGILE - Do Not Break' Ignored by the world - Allowing you unforced entry, You made a home Hidden in the shadow Of my unconscious darkness. Fitfully coming to light To remind me Of yours and therefore my own; Plea to die.
he would have discovered him trying to change the water formula in his tears he tried to exist/insist/resist where no body was thinking the man without moon suspended in a terrorizing labyrinth of faces His own he was a method man growing salt in his eyes like minefields teaching it the taste of the earth anxiety like mountains of fog eradicating crossroads he wants to exist inside the body of the world with the decency of negotiated desires and the hands get lost in translation truth is a black truffle sweating and swearing sensuous craters perhaps he killed many singing birds searching for imagination, his body muted, renegotiated soon after birth staying alive, denying the soul of zebras He lacks verbs, some nouns learning from the theory of absence how the effortless U(n-conscious) is a Poet that rhymes the body with the mind of the world
He summoned the shaman, the artists, the tango teacher to the wake of his body while learning how summer waves contribute to a theory of mind his self white white while forgetting Magritte, a taxi for Chopin or the whiteness of the cotton pickers perhaps
The feeling of fear meeting someone for the first time the delight looking at a little child playing near ecstasy smelling a magnolia blossom a secure feeling upon seeing Pampas Grass.
The unsafe feeling being with the blonde man who had been nothing but kind to me then… finally I remembered the sandy-haired boy who made an object of me at age seven behind the barn on a summer day.
So much of the self is hidden chaining me to the old keeping me in a caterpillar state stumbling over chunks of earth ignorant of what can happen in the cocoon.
But learning, writing, remembering can make me a Monarch flying into spring.
I bow to Ray C. Stedman and his article: “The Great Mystery” and to Melanie Durand Grossman’s memoire, “Crossing Bayou Teche,” that brought a kind of enlightenment to her, her cousins, and others. The book effected in some of us a new awareness and freedom from formerly hidden realities that had shackled us to the past. This poem is part of my Teche series.
All energy comes from the same well every whim wrought whims not while sitting on a fiery throne or cast out onto frosted stone buy or sell It's drawn from the same well loss gain pleasure pain close your eyes what color is it?