Freaky poem leading up to a full moon and when the moon is full.. . Fourth ice cold morning. Big deal round these parts. The dog kicks the door open, while I sleep. I see my breath, first thing, upon rising. The dream appears, during the state, between- still asleep, and half awake. A silent film is projected, onto a cloud that moves slowly- Cherry blossoms fall from branches, spinning downward like pinwheels, before they disappear from view like a magic trick. faint trails of color. color- The way I remember the Grand Canyons of Colorado, Isley Brothers on the car stereo, along the edge, gazing down, was half asleep, and homesick that late afternoon. The way that I remember, man made canyons of New York City- as the sun set low behind the Hudson River, looking down, the whole room brushed, in broad pink strokes, while souls rushed by, like a river, on the avenue below my window. Nico the sound track, that late afternoon- as if she too, caught somewhere between this reality, and the reality, of a sound sleep the night before. And all day long at work, the dream was with me. Nice beginning. Second day - New year.
Posted on: Sun, 04 Jan 2015 15:34:05 +0000
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