10 nov. 2010

Segundo Sueño

There’s subdued sleepy music in the ghosts of mind
We carry even when climbing, crawling smiles,
When we feel most alive and think we thrive
And forlorn questions full of scorn don’t swarm.

This waking up, this cloudless state of mind,
Or else breezy, white, and thick with cushion mist,
Is comfort in the energetic luminous sense
Of fiery, romantic thrills and gaping eyes.

Ease flees so quick us always drenched in ink,
All muddled lucid dreamers when we live...

Creating trumps for cathexis, a collective cure,
And games of great gestures together to endure
Days holding hands of so-called lovers as we drive
Dull drives and to a vivid fiction volunteer our eyes.

The movie moves and moves in us a muse,
Takes us through crypts of wrinkled hands and faces
Exposing blindly fears like laundry in the wind.
We cry for Earth, a tiny ball of clay, we cry for day

And night falls all around in dark and lack of sound;
We huddle closer without how or why

And then we cry our tips the second time that week
Absorbed in silver and absorbed mid-scream.
Amongst the shadows of these others' sighs
Against the mirrors of our own phantasmal lives.

The ride back home is a surprise, we’re left alone
And so-called friends with strange sly smiles
In cramped and carnival car kidnap our kind--
For a hobby, for giving us sweet chords and poppy,

Lightly laughing at our eyes, lightly laughing
At our self-delighting sensuous prison-paradise.

Then so-called home, yellow building, yellow dog
Dog left begind, neighbor fretting, questions,
Spotlight, soft interrogations, subtle dialogues through dog,
We know not what to say or how to leave.

Some nights deem awkward instances like these,
When the cold biting street-light dark
Threatens some wild story ending
In confusing outcomes previously unimagined,

Foreboded with a shimmery thud, we tremble
As we wish the elevator would just swallow us up.

Under our door we spy domestic light
Hear footsteps and the loud familiar voice
Of one we recognize as from the egg of us
Saying strange things to someone on the phone.

The words that we can’t help perceive as echoes
Of concerns for women art and death
As much despair in all these prospects lies
Assumed despair that's sterile as the stars.

The broken wings have healed and been
Hung up to dry, not to be used but for to dance.

Strangers to all! We to our room do brood,
Absorb the space with our tactile sight,

No longer yearning to eager ears portray our lives
Without even looking in the mirror once.

Hooked on the mirror once, we never
Can look away, even if we don’t look again,

Until now that we see and hear and say
Which which, what what, and all of that.

Memory sleeps still but now it stirs,
Changing the colors in the smoky composition.

As now it wakes with it it steals
The fingers dancing from our pupils,

Inside we climb or slide and fantasize
With moments we live wanting come

Coming perhaps soon, on some enchanted noon,
Or some enchanted moon, where looks deliver lines,

And intense dialogues are heard between old friends
Old lovers and old hates told in a fit and never without wit.

Moments that surpass us are a thing of dreams,
In reality the moment itself is always smaller than we.

The beauty of closed pulsing eyes!
Of smoother cats that never lost look!
He's thinking of the number three and so are we
The trinity of kaleidoscope, sea-shell, rag doll.
Steep stony trails, calm down it's almost done
This daily dream that starts and ends the same
All other dreams sustains, stories are easy to forget
Not stones. We say what we can as well we can.

Some tea and soon, in truth, we shut them tight,
The dark is buzzing some between our eyes

The light is sharp and hostile on our eyes
And fears make turbulence around our ears.

We trust no more this wandering wondering waking
Life with strong elixirs potent, tempting in red vials

That can’t but half-deliver promises they make
Because of time stretched out on day and days.

Youth lasted such a long time and left us
The chronic state of what we did foresee.

Lone wolf in tux, unable to know anyone
Because the eyes are watery pools that hide
Fancy behind, to bed we drift
To start our backward sift through
Moving skeletons so deep and chained
Inside our inside struggling to flee.
Remove the lucid and go back to dream,
Dream always dominating in the lead
Time being relative, so many lives in dreams
Each night makes dream our natural state

(not you and me but
me and me as one is
our and we)

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