Self and reality. Symbol and language. Myth and image. Memory and consciousness.
Dream and unreality: locus communis.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

12/365 - 18/365


—so predictable,
the cat chooses his options
of occupation:
curl at the foot of the bed—
or roam nighttime's darkened house.

Second time around
the pond, drowning in heat
of early twilight,
a bell rings with flattened chimes
—and then I notice the moon.

For a brief moment,
we confuse the sound of a
distant dog barking
with the baby three rooms down
the hall, yet sleeping peaceful.

An odd depression
unfolds over me— dark wings
opening slowly—
unexplainable motion
without justified reason.

After eye exams,
the outside world burns with fire—
pale auras surround
everything, every object
reveals hidden energies.

I can hear silence
throbbing in my ears, shifting
as darkness settles.
We lie in bed, side by side—
locked in a firm present tense.

Some nights its harder
to reach within that storehouse
of words, gather seeds
of sensory impressions
as from a pomegranate.

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