another poem about dreams, 2012.

 

 

Just like the color of woods, crisp in

it's demitasse of black, black, like the Chinese year of the

Negro water dragon, where everything you can ever

imagine happens right this second, before

Morpheus or the Yellow King or the setting sun

or stone calendars or demobilized clocks

where the hands are stopped in keyless

depression. At 26 I had only heard of

but had never seen a goldfish.Yet embracive

as the woman who had your child but ran

off with other sorrows; who returns

with her tic-toc eponyms and explode

on your shirt with tears and time and

those empty days when her and her

mothers wish was to drag you to hell

but you chalk it us as life or leaf trace on

a damp porch, so sans serif your gloved finger

can only trace her laugh lines with that

angle reserved for the arrangements of

daffodills. But you play along and say it's

ok to have not known you but pictured

you  among chilly trees wanting to

be warmed.Wishing to be soothed again

by another forgotten year and the demon

square root of minus

one.

Reviews

[Circe]

it's like time passes at a different rate in your world, another dimension of impressions leaving their marks on the earth, leaving grooves in your soul... and 26? oh dear, that's a wake up call to me! must go out and hug a goldfish today. the pain of those tears still retain their glisten, fresher now than ever... chilly trees and dragons, utterly satisfying, to feel the flood of memories... incredible this is.

[Tree]

Reading this was like walking naked and gingerly in an over grown rose garden. Imagery so vivid beautiful and complex that it hurts. In a good way. I wish more people were exposed to your writing

Diego

[Shmoke-Sifted Heftlande..]

gonna read this again after/during my thermos of coffee that I imagine is turkish

[Emily B]

oh, oh

there are no words for the power that trembles here