barnyard dream

The talk show was set in a barnyard. Carson was hosting. There were white oaks and tobacco barns in the background. We were all sitting on stumps in the shade. Light breeze. Temps in the mid seventies. White sand.

The show had gone to commercial. So Affleck and I discussed topics for the next segment. I suggested we talk about his recent struggles with depression, and he said he would bring up my estranged starlet wife's new beau Steven Tyler. Ben said Stevey boy had been talking junk about me to the press.

When he said that I woke up laughing on my sofa.

meatloaf dream

He was becoming suspicious of the cafe's meatloaf. After having it the night before, he dreamed he had an invisible helicopter and was flying it all over. He also dreamed he stretched a cable a half mile across a lake and built a gondola to hang from it. The gondola had lattice gates painted blue by Dr. Blueberry. The best part was his friends were astounded he knew how to fly the helicopter.

saltine dream

In the limo we could speak perfect french. Confident it was something hidden deep inside me I'd never realized. It felt cosmopolitan as the words aimed at the woman in the sharp business suit dripped from me like warm honey. I was french. Smugly french. And I liked it.

dust

When this time has passed, keep me from that cold dark box.
Light up what remains of me here.

Keep the heart of me in that ashen jar that rests on your mantle.
Cast the rest to the four winds I love so well.

Let my dust blow amidst the bitterweed of pastures long gone.
Frolicking with the crawfish and salamanders of youths spring branch.

Let me trickle in the tears of someone laughing.
A sleeve is not such a bad place to be. An embrace will surely ensue.

Let me rise on wings in summer's oaken canopies.
Nestled deep in the feathers of a tiny wren.

Let me cascade the veil of an approaching storm.
Tumbling in the ozone of it's pensive valkyries.

Let me lay quiet on a worn windowsill.
Becoming part of the musty, the sun baked, the overlooked.

Let me infuse the workings of gadgets and screens.
So they might release you for a moment to see the day for what it really is.

Let me rest on your pillow ever so slightly.
So that I might be near you and witness a dream.

patina

Sunset silhouette. February wind. Backside of nowhere. Beaverwood walking stick. Mud in the cleats of my boots. Old gray glacial granite painted in lichen and thin moss. I pause to feel this lifes patina on my being, brush away the clatter of the days tasks and open my eyes to the evening light. Another day past. Gone the way of so many others. Long live tomorrow.

Long live tomorrow.