Fever Dream

The day I lay on the couch
In hypnagogic fever dream
Walter Cronkite raining ghastly energy
On my pajama’ed, five-year-old self
-- His news of Universal destruction
Burrowing into my sleep, tearing at all childhood
F oo t h ol d s
Waking me with a start
To find…

Walter Cronkite on the television
Talking calmly about some banal development
In the news

I pulled off my blanket
Rushed outside
Looking frantically around
Until I spotted the Cleveland Press delivery boy, alive
…Alive

I fell to my knees into the lawn, sobbing
“I thought everyone was dead…
I thought….everyone….was...dead...”

Not alone in this world, as if I ever could be
The paper boys, the pet hamsters, my stout little mother
Would be with me, in some form or another
Until the end of days

When Brahma will open his eyes
The dream of his Creation ended
And we will revel as One
In the worlds of our own Imagining

songwriter's manifesto

unless you have
something specific to write about
it's best
to just wing it
stop making sense
let meaning
and purpose
and your ethereal voice
duke it out
in the back alley
your flaws
be your cause
your life
be your latest recording

above the factory floors

so quiet
above the factory floors
lights hanging
from the ceiling
in the sweltering heat
in the grand industry
showering bright thoughts
onto the blessed heads
-- sparkling, dewy star-drops --
of the toiling
great-souls
below

heart in the briars

leaking
from my essential heart
the part about -- they never
accepted me as I was

well, by the same token
I never put myself out there
as I was

I let the pressures
of the movements of inconsequence
and the lust to be loved
push brambles over my heart
making it a bottomless floor
a trap door

and now
with clock running backwards
to catch itself cheating
I find you
solid and sultry
my own reflection
in the body of redemption

the trap is shut
I've exited
up

big thaw

the conundrums
by which we are
plagued
are not as good
as the ones
we make up

plot the course
remorse
stuck in frozen stream
our ankles await
the big thaw
of dreams
our heads bob
two arm-lengths
beneath

grounding

touch tree trunk
unyielding girth
feet on roots
twining above,
below the earth
feeling my way
into your core
your heart
is my heart
looking up into your branches
a few dangling leaves
and seeds remaining

it is newly winter
and I have
come here
to learn
to stand
on my own
with you

that death you do

buried shallow
just beneath the sheets
cold body
recently released
shallow grave
just beneath the surface
of appearances
hurtling toward
a brighter sun
within