Thursday, July 22, 2010

Normal Night at Home

It rained like Montana
last evening
Our trash cans flowed the rivers
of our street

I said I felt my pineal gland
was pushing out my skull like jiffy pop
You said you lay there paralyzed
the better part of the day

We rummaged in the basement for some five-year-old
white sage
That burned until the walls
told it to stop

There were sirens and a warning voice
to stay away from the tornadoes
As green clouds dropped like ink
on forests diamond gray

There was nothing more to talk about
except the ego
You had work to, you said, do in the astral
you couldn't stop resisting

I had nothing to show, just some words
that aren't mine -
For I am the red trees and the blue vines, the black
Egyptian eyes

Some crabgrass glistened as lightning
flashed our pictures
Then the thunders roared in judgment
of what we feared we had become

I found myself grimacing - I don't
really want to know me -
There's nothing there to see -
just a ghost image, a thoughtless nod toward freedom