Dreamscape
Across from the Emerald palace
Dorothy beckons,
calling forth Golden Brick
dreams which pave a way
for my beautiful muse.
Dressed to the nines in snakeskin
shining in a light like the
sun but more so
as the vision burns
into the Disneyland of my soul.
I pride mine legs
and run free towards her
(wanting to grunt into a pillow while she stares at the ceiling)
snakeskin form only
to be impaled
by green shining nails.
As a life fades from me
I laugh knowing I must
be dreaming,
I was not meant to die.
I see the blood glimmering through
the silver slatted light of the slivered
silver moon and right before I die,
the cinematic screen inside my head goes
blank momentarily but the dreamscape
gnomes running the film boot put
on the next reel before I can object
and I am transported to cobblestone streets
and I am an old man
next to the Hall of Obesity
and across the street from
Silly Pictures of Cats on the Internet
is the Church Signs and Such Museum.
I bring my grandchildren
and buy them sticks of
Roman Candy wrapped in Wax Paper while we giggle at
the charade that
was kept up for so long,
they will ask me how these things
could have happened
and I will tell them about the
Apollo’s Fire Wheeling Chariot, of Constantine’s dreams, 99 statements nailed on a wall, Henry’s wives, of 6 million people who had golden stars stitched on emaciated bodies, of land and slaves and gold and power and technologies and of coveted things and coveted women and oil and
superstition,
of the blindfolds we put on each other
so we won’t ever see.
I am laughing like a madman,
they forget
the sticky licorice in their
hands.
Then I wake up from the dream
having strong urges for something
not knowing what that something is.
#300
