I
the first time i realized my neighborhood
finally began to change color,
i felt it was safe enough to walk out in the open,
without windshields…
i was moving with a tuned voice in my ears,
eyes closed
to see the next step dive away,
disappear from the print left before it
and when we met,
she was wearing a long fur coat
to keep her heat from escaping
we were grateful there was some chance to satisfy this night
without inventing reasons we 'd chosen to walk away,
once,
long before
partially hidden by too much light,
a cellar room eventually remembered us
as the stone building circled our approach,
and though whatever i remember still remains covered in sticky dream,
it all happened every minute ago
II
upon entering, the pair emptied their torn pockets on a table
above frozen bodies spilled across the floor,
one staring wildly at the holes in my shaking knees
the other busy combing her bald head
with what was left of her bitten fingernails
my mother suddenly entered the room
carrying a sinkful of blood for us to bathe in,
humming one of those Broadway tunes,
thinking it best to introduce us to what was left of this moment together
III
meanwhile, the girl with the fur coat
began slicing up the table,
gathering wood to burn away the oven
and as I wondered if it was time to put the house lights on
to make sure my mother's reflection was still alive,
the young girl without fingernails
took out a flashlight and began searching the ceiling for a hole
for us to lie down in
(she must have realized that it was time
she began to be aggressive)
IV
a third girl stared madly all the while
at the holes in my knees,
where she must have found something very religious to pray about
perhaps it was the dense fog
coming to put her to sleep,
but the fans were working to well
for any air to escape from this,
her cold celebration
now the room was touched
with only a saddened monotone voice
murmuring about a past year of truth and innocence,
but i could hardly understand the language her voice used
because we were now living in different countries-
she could not know that while she was growing older and more uncertain
i had only since learned to breathe
without my mouth inside hers,
and for this she could not live another day
knowing a sullen rain would be invented to fall on us
V
the young girl told me she still could not experience
the christ that lived within her youth, the image of which
she knew still reflected strongly in my eyes-
there was no way to speak openly to
of what i was certain to be true,
for it was too late for resurrection
the day for sympathy had ended long ago-
here only real people remained
VI
the little girl's sad eyes closed for a short moment
while she folded her hands in prayer- this ended the waiting,
and quickly my knees dissolved
under the gaze of the third girl,
who at last ripped off her jade necklace,
began tying it into little knots,
and threw it wildly at my drowning feet
causing the floor to divide in thirds
VII
the girl in the fur coat,
oblivious to the obvious,
was now stretched across my bed
fingering a harpsichord
reciting passages from Keat’s “Ode to a Nightengale”:
she had to use her heat in some destructive way,
and strumming "poetic" was a lot better that digging for the ruins
of some ancient Assyrian king…
VIII
just then,
a grinning messenger flew in through the window
with a note for me:
“the root farm is being occupied by the Brown Army”,
and I “was being sought for stealing apples”
i had picked from a tree near the North Pole
i sat deliberating, overcome by the speed this message had translated itself,
but was not quite sure if anyone had read it over my shoulder
IX
just then alarm clocks splattered onto the floor.
windows in the next rooms flew open
causing the air supply to completely vanish,
and the holes in my knees filled,
causing the third girl to suddenly jump back
into a memory from which she was born from
i sang out in astonished harmony
unlikely to conceive the lyrics any longer
over on the bed the sheets were bunched way up over the draping,
clearly all would be obliterated
after the next tidal wave smashed against the growing darkness.
X
i thought it was the heat pipes coughing,
but purple tears commenced pounding from the little girl’s wavering eyes:
“come and win another horse race for me”, she begged seductively,
but it was clear i had to do all the running for myself
the tempest dominated all other human sounds,
and through an ever-nearing amber cloud
the time for the shooting had come
XI
the girl on the bed
had already surrendered to the fever of the bloodbath,
my arching body flattened, pinning firmly against her:
how long would we be able to struggle
away from the drains?
XII
i edged down to the couch (near the smoking plants),
believing the worst was behind,
but the third girl had already mailed me back the necklace
with “Christ is the answer” for postage…
(two weeks would pass when i went looking for another dream to bury her remains in)
XII
finally the storm had reached its damp and violent climax
when i awoke,
trying to regain some clarity that lurked behind,
hoping to surmise some truth
from what had assembled along an opened wound,
but each abased and fading recollection
becomes morning mist
transitory dew,
consciousness burns away all clarity, and
truth,
now relative,
a fleeting perception,
impossible to believe in
XIII
three sisters
who once offered me intuition to augment my dreams of communication,
soon saw my work could not include
pursuing some other form of Musical Soul,
of which i am not,
and so one afternoon they arrived together,
one last time
unlocking the triangular vault
encasing their sleepy voices
XIV
leaving me to ponder:
why must important lessons be reborn in dream
only to remain left unopened,
discarded birthday presents
just out of reach,
after the jar has at last spilled away all its captives?
11/20/68-11/24/68 from the dream on 11/18/68