moving between glass alleyways

hauling recording equipment in my arms,

an appleseed girl

with painted wet long black hair

opened her screen door

to let out some air

“want some help?”

as she offered a cup of her homegrown coffee,

"but please do not make another try for whatever it is you want from me”

the room stood off

perched on a faded green rug with

an excuse for a table piled on top of it

after I unloaded the equipment

we paused a moment,

our hands stuck in each other’s back pockets,

facing off

“are you heading for the festival later tonight?” she finally broke the silence

“only if i can be certain someone will be there to open the doors”

her older sister suddenly climbed in through one of the broken windows,

and pointing at me while checking out the recording equipment :

“what is it he wants from you that he hasn’t stolen already?”

inspired, i picked up the alto leaning against the wall

and began blowing the only notes left

i sensed couldn’t be heard by the women

observing my oversized buccinator muscle,

“where’d you learn to wail like that?”, one of them demanded

but never really having learned anything in my life

i continued blowing

as if these were the first sounds my lungs had ever made

then as if on cue, the older sister quickly began undressing

in front of a small concave mirror hanging down from the ceiling,

while her beautiful sister began gathering up the machines i had brought in with me:

“keep your time straight”, she warned, “or I won’t let you recognize me when the festivities begin”

i stumbled out into the driving rain

astonished and alone,

contemplating this “clockwork dream” I was inside of,

and already feeling the effects

of that homegrown coffee,

a barking cat brushed up against me

somehow ideas began to make sense of this,

my surreal over-world

click

the hallway was crowded with people searching for each other.

in the back of an adjoining room were

three or four long tables with some people seated in folding chairs.

on the surrounding walls

hung posters of their favorite heroes-

Trotsky, Malcolm, Lenin…all the boys

peered out at the gathering troops

as if their eyes were about to be gouged out by mad dogs

petitions, baskets of buttons, essays on freedom-

all of these items laid out on a crimson left wing quilt,

with every once in a while someone producing a coin

to authenticate the scene

(after being knocked over for a second time)

scrambling up off the floor of the great hall,

i began looking around for familiar faces,

but instead there stood the girl with the long black hair

“your people have obviously left you to stand up for yourself tonight”, she warned

“but i thought you and i had a chess match planned” i suggested to distract her from this guy

dressed in denim

sprinkling water around her knees like a plant

“sorry, not tonight, i cannot converse with you any longer in this world”, she added as she began skating away,

“but if it would make you feel more secure i wouldn’t mind laughing at you behind your back”

obviously puzzled and thwarted.

I stood scratching my eczema ear

my eyes intently studying the flakes as they swirled downward

and it was then i noticed my grandmother

sitting alone at a huge table knitting another navy v-neck,

a half filled glass of coffee and some sugar cubes at her elbow:

“Bubby, i’ll see you Friday to pick up the chicken soup” i was going to reassure her when the lights went on!

“did you do that?”, a little girl standing next to me whispered

“sure honey” i lied,

and just as the huge room flickered

some id card fell out of my shirt pocket,

and everything went dark again

as the next feature began to unwind

Paterson

3/24/69 of a dream on 3/23/69