Panic Upon Waking

Loud, crazy scramble.

Black symbols

on a deep, green background.

Pan over,

wide focus;

it’s a dress pattern.

Morbid fascinations,

like birds

and skeletons

and trying to build reality

using dream geometry.

Long lines that never intersect,

senselessly impossible angles,

flying buttresses

‘that won’t come down;

they just fly away.

Winged predator features.

Raptor beaks,

razor claws.

circling,

circling.

 

Madman on the roadside

looks just like my father.

Swinging that old scythe

like time wastes

without distinction

and ravages the body,

the mind soon following.

Treacherous old bitch,

Mother Nature is.

She giveth,

but not really.

We used to be deep,

like children’s eyes.

Eternal,

formless

and unstoppable.

Our downfall was looking backwards;

always a sucker

for pride and its guilty friends.

 

Turmoil in the bedclothes.

I can’t remember

if we were fucking,

or fighting,

I just remember being hot

and tired

and unsatisfied.

I remember your smile the best.

Tissue paper memories

that tear so easily,

summoned from a steaming mug

of morning invocations.

Straining to make sense

of this waking world.

A moment of dreamer’s panic sets in,

but I remain.

Tiger in a lion’s den.

Treading where I don’t belong.

I can’t hide my stripes,

even in this interesting world.

 

HG – 2017

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