if I were to start anew
as a young innocent
placed in primordial forest

what would I think of the stars?

something that appeared when the darkness came
something constant
deserving of worship

would I imagine that their beauteous brightness
held sway
by collecting the day
to store it away
in a panoply of points perfect?

this artless array
in its collection countless
with effusive emission
each morn would bring back to us
the light heavenly
alchemized with subtle change

or, would I simply think
that each black night
was a shroud enormous
cloaking the sky
but pockmarked with a billion tiny holes
through which I could see the day peeping
awaiting its dissolution?

It’s said
the road to Hell
is paved with good intentions.
I have wondered
about the path to madness.
Do they converge?

I sense, before sleep, in moments extended,
and just after waking, as well,
discreet conversations, both daft and demented,
disturbingly clear as a bell.

Inside the pink eyelids, the movies are playing,
just after the chatting is done.
The cunning creations are sometimes dismaying.
These slideshow dissolves, one by one.

Perhaps the withdrawal from drugs of my shame,
or the onset of early senility,
or a devious malady could be to blame
for the loss of a keen sensibility.

So I pray, as I battle, and inside I hide,
as I make a deep tunnel through snow,
digging for daylight and dearness denied.
(May I see, once again, ‘fore I go)

Before you call me an old lecher, this particular dream had no sexual content or feeling. It was more spiritual in nature.

It took place at a factory with which I was very familiar, having worked there for thirteen years. I ran the store room for engineering parts. It was a secured room, connected directly to the maintenance shop by a split doorway. Part of my job was to deliver parts to them, so I was a frequent visitor.

I noticed a young woman there, who was sweeping the floor and chatting with some of the mechanics. It was unusual because I had never seen a woman in there before. She gave me a sidelong glance as I was setting out parts and picking up broken ones etc. I just smiled, and continued what I was doing. I asked one of the mechanics who she was, and he said “That’s Jeannie. She just started yesterday”. (I kid you not).

While she was talking and sweeping, she kept looking in my direction. I became a little uncomfortable, and began finishing up my stuff so as to go back into the store room. I will say here that when women appear in my dreams, they are frequently composites of many that I have known, and Jeannie certainly was this.

I had gone in and closed my door, leaving the top half open, when I heard the buzzer go for the maintenance guys’ coffee break. They all left. Jeannie remained, and walked towards my doorway. I felt, in this dream state, that she moved with almost inhuman grace, if I may describe it thusly. She did not smile, but kept eye contact with me as she got to the door. She then placed her hands on the ledge, standing upright and not leaning. We were two feet apart. I decided it would be best to be businesslike, and so I asked what I could do for her. She said nothing, but gave her head an inquiring tilt to the side, keeping her eyes on me. I had the thought that it was as if Galadriel were silently questioning Boromir. I was completely tongue tied. At last, she leaned slightly forward, kissed me on the cheek, and walked away.

It was at this point that I woke up, went to the bathroom, and visited the kitchen for a drink. I am not one who falls back asleep very quickly after awakening, and so it must have been ten minutes at least before this happened.

For the first time in my memory, the same dream resumed. I was somehow informed by the dream that Jeannie had been promoted to a managerial position, and now had her own office. I had to go there to turn in some paperwork, when I noticed that she was talking to two or three men, with the door closed. She saw me waiting outside, and seemed to dismiss them, beckoning me to come in and sit.

The last thing that happened, before I lost the dream to transition, was that she came and sat down beside me. She picked up my hand with both of hers, and smiled with her eyes.

Thanks for a good opportunity for extra blogging exposure!

I crumple inward
Like the plastic bottle you suck the air from
Until your tongue hurts a little.
Like the Witch-King slain by Eowyn.
Like a fruit left out and filmed in time lapse.
Like the house in Carrie.
As if a vacuum hose were forcibly attached.

Thin and stretched
Like Baggins
Who felt like butter spread over too much bread.

A moving mummy.
A Sméagol
Preserved too long by an earned wickedness
With something noble yet to do
By accident.

Holding conversations
With opposing forces
Upon my shoulders.

Shrinking inward
As if in anticipated pain
From the wizened world.