Dream-like
Something of my own from a previous dream sequence.
Note: THIS IS NOT YOUR TYPICAL DREAM-POEM-POST.
And I have been absent from this community for some time.
I return and find many new members making waves. Rock.
Piscean water raging last night.
All on it's own.
What I saw was a Neptunian ship sailing.
All draped in a cloak of moss.
Off the deck, under the hull.
But we didn't roll out to sea.
I waited for my mother to respond first.
I looked for all my shoes
with green glass coke bottle eyes.
Not for swimming, but for a date.
She said to me, "Those belong outside."
And I felt an empty unreality come on
where the dream met the morning,
full of the details, empty of my mother.
The details that make your sequential reasoning
riddled with sink holes.
Where the ego got weighed down
when you said he was adorable
but that you had things to do already.
I know the Republic is all outdated.
I remember an overture about cooking
sensual food
and I thought that once,
your ideas were good ones.
But then the storm came
and there was my once young mother
being sunned and rained on
all at once
right by the Magnolia tree.
Her own leather saucers were
small and still full of milk in my mind.
Her suit made stripes and contours in a V.
It was her apron.
Somehow the music was coming off
the stylus....
The needle sparked and put a kind of drug
in my arm and the frames made leaps and bounds.
This arm and that smile continuous.
Your smile and your laugh and your teeth
were your mark and that was all that remained
when the ship went down
and my heart walked the plank.
You thought I had gone out in secret
to check my face in the mirror.
But I didn't.
There was no glass around at all.
There were no appointments.
And today, everything is still coming up
green and full of water.
Note: THIS IS NOT YOUR TYPICAL DREAM-POEM-POST.
And I have been absent from this community for some time.
I return and find many new members making waves. Rock.
Piscean water raging last night.
All on it's own.
What I saw was a Neptunian ship sailing.
All draped in a cloak of moss.
Off the deck, under the hull.
But we didn't roll out to sea.
I waited for my mother to respond first.
I looked for all my shoes
with green glass coke bottle eyes.
Not for swimming, but for a date.
She said to me, "Those belong outside."
And I felt an empty unreality come on
where the dream met the morning,
full of the details, empty of my mother.
The details that make your sequential reasoning
riddled with sink holes.
Where the ego got weighed down
when you said he was adorable
but that you had things to do already.
I know the Republic is all outdated.
I remember an overture about cooking
sensual food
and I thought that once,
your ideas were good ones.
But then the storm came
and there was my once young mother
being sunned and rained on
all at once
right by the Magnolia tree.
Her own leather saucers were
small and still full of milk in my mind.
Her suit made stripes and contours in a V.
It was her apron.
Somehow the music was coming off
the stylus....
The needle sparked and put a kind of drug
in my arm and the frames made leaps and bounds.
This arm and that smile continuous.
Your smile and your laugh and your teeth
were your mark and that was all that remained
when the ship went down
and my heart walked the plank.
You thought I had gone out in secret
to check my face in the mirror.
But I didn't.
There was no glass around at all.
There were no appointments.
And today, everything is still coming up
green and full of water.