... (XXVIII)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hx6FagxoqSc&ab_channel=GoodMusic

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It's a dream

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I hear the words, whispered,

Folded, like origami paper

About the edges of the room. 

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a dream

Just a dream

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The dim light 

Plays against the drywall frame,

The enclosed corners,

The tight space.

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Anagoge 

a dream

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In the center of the room, 

Before me, yawning 

Like the high expanse of a great tree,

Sits a scale -

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A perpendicular shape

Carved from weathered willow -

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And at its feet,

Sheltered, within the twisting of its roots,

Lays a stone cairn, a meat cache,

With scattered rubble

Punctuating the angle of its ruin. 

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Two chains,

One of silver, the other lead,

Fall from the arms of the scale.

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And a great line -

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A swirling spectrum

Of sound, abrupt iambic spikes 

And the low pulses, of a cardiograph,

Of thrumming, of waves -

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Cross the horizontal length of the scale's bridge

And connects both the two arms,

With their two chains,

And the two concave disks, plates,

That're suspended at each their ends.

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a dream

Just a dream

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On the right, and though at first glance

It might appear empty, is a great cascade of fine powder -

Yellow, luminescent, soft -

And it erupts from the plate as though it were water

Boiling past a tin pot's overflow.

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And I look closer, and glimpse, that the powder is made up of gold.

And I watch, and the powder synthesizes and combusts,

Coagulates, like old blood running through empty veins,

And the plate spills over with coins, 

With ore, and intricate rings,

Riches.

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And on the left...

On the left...

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a dream

You are still dreaming

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On the left I see my severed hand:

Bone protruding, 

Tendons disjointed,

And seeping past the textures of the plate.

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And I see its fingers, stretching, for something that it will never grasp.

And I see it shudder, and shake, in disappointment and in pain. 

And I wake myself, abruptly,

Before the voice can recite

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That I am yet still in a dream, again. 

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