early January
the pump began a basso profondo splat ticking as in my transfigured dream of actors marched on deadline along side them picasso is dressed like the riddler circa 1955 penning his mark w/ a spray can onto corrugated cardboard + handing them out to the lineup for a french theater piece entitled the entitled pygmalion each person brandishing a graffiti sign enigma stating that time had stopped + asking which ocean will rise i spring awake seized w/ the impression of the heat pump backing up + flooding the muddy hill my little room a cork in the drift turning three times jumping twice overturning into a bluegrass riff in my head from an alternative universe i lived through as this trilogy of tunes go together kicking + screaming i become aware of nightmares that make much more sense than this dosing back off the exaggerated ticking now a thunderous menacing clock creeps in through the window terry + i are working a triage tent using patches taken from our jeans as tourniquets that miraculously grow back as fast as they are torn off we work fast to bandage people together sending them on their way sometimes into waiting rooms sometimes onto operating tables sometimes back out through the in-door the infuriating rhythmical ticking continued as my mind animates the sound reciting prose or channeling percussioneque words OR literary devices written down in the fog lost forever OR a bullet list of projects listing themselves OR a non-sequitur flip book the size of an encyclopedia OR switching the tv from channel to channel OR a long toenailed dog scampering across a wood floor OR rodin’s thinker tapping his fingers on his marble knee over + over + then it is dawn. As dawn will.
My favorite chapter so far. This has to be legitimate transcription of your thoughts. You thought, therefore it is.
ReplyDeletefast and wooly and whatsit
ReplyDeleteStream of dreams right there (I was going to say consciousness but given it's a dream...). I get it, I have a long nailed dog that ticks . . all the time.
ReplyDelete