#8

July 18th, 2011

I was thinking about abstract art, about dreams, about lust, about confusion, and my brain shat this out. Imagine you're trapped in a lucid dream where everything is a painting. Imagine whatever you want.

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i cannot comprehend why it is only now
that the occupying crimsons and azures
have chosen to fade to muted violet
while the clock's hands echo and click
in the corner, like tapshoes
like a loose hinge

our pale skin falls to the floor
perpetually, mechanically,
only to grow back as the sun rises again
the room's scent growing faint and trembling
as the air staggers home to bloom again
and our bodies are reborn

knowing they are watched by constellations
who recline, lazily wrapped in morning's silver veil,
waiting like ballerinas in velvet-lined wings
to dance forward across a dead sky
to correlate the freckles on our hands
into maps

to pull us across the glowing desert
of the mind, fearing the eruption of storms
each time our snow globe skulls begin to shake
ferociously, the sky falling down in exhaustion
as thin light pirouettes across our landscape
and we drop once more into sleep