Poetry / Afternoon Dream

Along a narrow, crooked road
With uneven shoulders
And spotted gravel
Did I walk with a androgynous clown figure painted in Dracula’s face
With sharpened teeth to prove the point
Of some identity flaw totally lost on me
Saw through windows of little shops
The people of humble means
Living a spectacular freaks existence in deference to the cold gathering
All angle were odd
And everything continued on ion a cycle of birth and rebirth
All was in some shape dying and
Returning

Everyone bore faces from the past
But spoke in foreign languages yet to be discovered
Or uncovered
Of current events from the unthinking majorities point of view
A pretty women sucked at my arm
Asking for blood
There was decadence and lust
And horrible cowering figures
Abandoned to all these things.

We came to house
It was one long row of doors
Hundreds upon hundred
Placed in no particular order
Opening to any eventuality the mind chooses
Into a house with no time
Or dreams
No aspirations for better things
Out of door 29 a man screamed raising a metal belt to the sky
With Indian feathers lashed to his forehead in some ritualistic remembrance.

Back down the road and looking
Taking it all in
Dreamscapes detonating into reality
A mugginess in a dry
A separation from the body
Into the synapses
Into the chaos that rages inside
The head
Behind the mind
Before conscious thought
Brought me back
And up from the oblivion of dreams.

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