why do my dreams lay siege to me
as if I was a fortress of stone,
a dragon unconcerned with men’s matters,
a river who just picks up the bones
of foolish dreams who jump the chasm
and fall to drown in icy water,
for I move the other cliffside at will
at each new attempt I aim to kill
my aspirations if they’re too upsetting,
if they’ll move me into uncertainty:
the Zambone machine, I clear the ice
and sometimes the results are not so nice.
Posts Tagged ‘Kill’
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I
catch myself
looking at my hands
and how I trust
in them.
they hold and play,
they press and grasp and fold,
capable of killing,
forcing
things
along my way;
they’re just barely under control.
Never Tamed or Rochambeau
Posted: January 28, 1992 in PoetryTags: Eye, Kill, Love, Rock, Slient, Smoke
I could kill you,
probably,
before you could react.
not now, though,
because you’re aware of the thought.
but sometime when you’ve forgotten,
I puncture your eyes
with hooked fingers,
or rip the bridge of your nose
off with savage teeth.
the potential is there.
I could love you,
probably,
before you could react.
not now, though,
because you’re aware of the thought.
but sometime when you’ve forgotten,
I admire your sight
without judging,
not interrupting your sense
of where you’re standing.
the potential is there.
the potential, flashing
as smoke rises from split rock.
whispering as dry paper
down a silent hall.
calling like idle scissors
twirled on your fingers.
I have killed you before in a dream
and I was savagely happy with myself
playing in the sandbox alone
with my painted toys and
turning the hose on and washing
your blood from my dump truck.
don’t worry if I dream without you
I won’t care if you hang me
by my left foot and burn my skin
off until I bleed wetly, just
a pinata even after we’re dead
I regenerate, you’ll heal, I’ll get you
a taxi.
I sat down in dejection
on a rock by the road
to watch others go by
and realized
that I had sat down by another,
who, surprised and encouraged,
got up and went on,
cheering me up some.
