Thursday, June 03, 2004

Jesus savior wash away

Dawn wets her moist lips early against a sea of green pastures and I have started to dream again. After work my body arrives home to bed late--plummeting on my matress, sinking into a pool of gulped darkness, drifting into forked waves of oblivion. I seem to resist this yawn; being digested into the dream fabric of shadows and illusions, the cloaked needle of night weaving feral cave-paintings on the inside of my eyelids.

I get out of bed, coerce myself to shower, allow the thick stem of liquid ablution to hiss over my shoulders. I towel off and fall back into the pond of night, floating across a stream of cusped images ferried by voices of females; an orchard of flesh.

In the moring I am reeled from my air-matress like a trout unsuspectingly yanked from a creek. My eyes are crusty-orbs, my vision askance. I totter around the room, I brew coffee in the kitchen, hawk out all the accumulative gunk heaped in my throat.

I wonder where I am going. I wonder what will be stringed out of me at work. I slightly ponder over the nocturnal barge I have just waded out of wondering what shore I would have paddled off to had I allowed those cupsed mosaics to drift further, to stroke my thoughts out into the sea of night only to wake up, under water, my breath occluded, my dreams only to be actualized and cemented by the tappering of each key. The completion of each sentence. The sound of her voice when she looks at me and smiles and tells me no, there's nothing that I can help her find today. Nothing at all.

No comments: