Sunday, January 28, 2018

clouds & the country

not cloud 9 in time
for the cloud themed

wear the sun and moon kimono
for the first time
no clouds there but

star hoops
close but no
more hair

I look thicker?

I thought it was a beautiful day
but it was fake summer

tired in my bones for
no good reason other
than waking up again
and again and again

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

I had a very moving dream. It lacked the embarrassment that most dreams have at least an ounce of. The embarrassment in understanding the dreamed scenario as an appendage, or a fragment from our impervious depths. Subtle embarrassment plus vague familiarity. This dream, instead, was richer than liver in its newness, in its maturity. In its departure with my senses, there was a freshness that I had yet to feel. The content was indeed "familiar", but, like a beautiful film made by someone else, from an other year, or, an other country, the viewing was a luscious package. Divined? Created elsewhere, and delivered.

   walking on the farm that
   my dead friend used to go to 
   in the summer
   with his family

   I'm wearing a small sundress
   and the sun is heavy on me
   at full volume
   its brilliant green
   circles around 
   my walk

   the chickens look fake
   I question them
   a little charcoal smudge for eyebrows
   on a plaster form

   I'm walking with my dead friend's brother
   I want to say
   tension is high
   side by side I want to
   be there for him

   we walk in the sun

   Jake was sitting on the stairs
   playing out a memory live
   showing us everything
   there was to remember 
   about him
   like his crooked mouth and
   troubling silence