I SEE YOU SLEEPING I see you sleeping in my sleep, solid, when death arrives it will be for obeisance offered, to the windows you built, the doors you made, exquisite entrances draped in ecstatic form I pulled up at the temple and walked across cracked asphalt parking lot to the front entrance, I knew it was a dream those crowded aisles, the choir made of bent willows my mother in a casket filled with silt from river she secretly cherished Arnold Schonberg intruded, a surprising moment, string quartet “0,” nasty notes from the rabble men sodomize the angels as flowers grow from stone I heard you walking last night walking and conversing with chirping sparrows dawn came, cold fog landed on the deck I’ve been busy doing nothing but reading lately manuals sickened by metaphysical tampering against lofty stars when I went out for a bit it was at the mall the dog accompanied me, we went from one end to the other and did the same on the second floor, so many things on sale: shoes electronics, blouses, cookware, and so many eager faces sleeping, shouting into their hand-held devices I tried imagining life as the dead see it so difficult to figure out how to move when to be patient, in what way to improve people’s lives, the horror of money and shopping the density of finances, of mortgages need to return specific items I returned a paid of suspenders, it was painful no receipt, the salesperson became angry she phoned her authorities SCHONBERG GRABS A SAXAPHIONE “the other one you rhyme” suspenders, This is wrong,” “it’s all wrong, no proof of purchase they had been on sale for eight dollars, substantial savings off the regular price I hear you sleeping in dust in ashes ya vant vatches, we got vatches but values, valium, assurances, ha! you get none of that shit in the opal studded chambers every writer painter musician you ever loved awaits down deep in the mirror sleeping go down the list, straighten your fear: begin with anonymous cave artists or those who shaped the big hipped women you will sleep in a library of sound playwrights, painters, poets, flautists, the baker of bread, chimney-sweep you sleep in my sleep you go out alone in an amber tent of images Dec 3. 2014
Posted on: Sat, 03 Jan 2015 17:03:50 +0000
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