Variegated Slide show of my dreams, culled from the last week of February, 2008

There was the dream where my best friend John came to visit me
on Christmas day in my old house (good ol' 2013)
and we had a fort in the garage and my father was
still alive and both John and myself were drinking
cheap domestic working class lager (ie, Hamms
Colt 45, PBR) in our fort and occasionally shaking
the cylinders like spray paint cans before
spewing forth the liquid coopery contents
in celebratory jest at one another.
John , calling home to his catholic mom and
telling her that, "You'll never guess, they're not
catholic, not Lutheran, but he's a bah----"



There was the dream in the last week where
I am with fellow reference Librarian Diane H---
and we are tunneling through the WHITE SOX
spring training camp, although the camp is
being held at Detweiller park,
the park on the rich vector of town
where hapless, culturally illiterate
progeny of doctors
and lawyers and executives

get buzzed off cheap beers

attired in their polo shirts

and shorts hair cuts....

We traversed through an underground

tunnel and later met with
the seedy low-lives who
orchestrated the underworld.

A bald headed chemotherapy child
was also in the room.



It was the dream
I found myself in Chicago, broke,
hungry and all alone in the world
Needing to get home. I found myself
taking a cab through a neon
theatre district and later found myself strapped into a carnival ride
(the ride was located inside a big mansion house on the lakeshore)
The ride was configured like an upside down
octopus and I was strapped in next to a young boy
who the caretaker of the machination
informed me that it was my job to protect
When I was on the ride the entire
room began to cartwheel and slip upside-down
and the young boy to my imminent left
began to laugh and giggle while
I batted my dream eyes into a shush
and the entire room transitioned
into the interior parallax of a pinwheel
on a windy March day

The conductor then said that
there was a monetary contest
whoever could find the key
and I jumped off the ride
(abandoning the boy)
and rushed to the front of the
room which kinda
resembled the entrance to my
junior high gymnasium, dual
oak tablets with a slight
Rectangular socket. I was trying to
get through the door when three
sexy models began fighting their
way past me, in search of the
reward. I pulled their hair and
found the key beneath scurrying
out of the room, down a long
velvet draped hallway. I
kicked it down to the bottom
of the hallway where I used the
key to unlock the "bosses door"
The boss was a very chubby-jowled
overweight black man reminiscent of
Stanley from the office. He looked
at me, said that it was "about time,"
before handing me the money
so that i could once again
get home.

..It was the dream where I found
myself riding on a trolley
Through down town Peoria
Looking at the denim contours
Of the female in front of me
snapping photographic
vignettes of her anatomy
with a cell phone in my pocket.

I then left to pay a bill
at a restaurant that was once
known as the RED FOXX a gay
bar I used to frequent because
it was the only place I could
go crazy and dance on the dance floor
without hoity toity females
flipping up their noses at me
like light switches.

The gay bar in the dream
had been transitioned into
a diner with saw dust on the
top of tables. I was having
diner with Rick Moody in
the dream who was portrayed as my
friend Aaron Felder as I opened up
the menu a photograph of my
hot aunt fell out--in the photograph
she was straddled leg peeing behind
a fence in the country and as I
went to fetch the photograph I was
imminently hurtled out of the restaurant
where I found myself walking on the chin
bluff of High street, near the mansion
where I used to live.



There was the dream where I was with
the women whose body lulled me to sleep
last summer--the beautiful cancer survivor
I was telling her that I was sorry (in real life)
that I showed up in her back yard drunk
over the holidays. I then tried to make
her laugh and hid bottles of beer
in the ventilation shafts around her house in an
until a smile finally cracked into the
pasture of her lips...


I have been dreaming about retails
and about malls and labyrinths. A dream
where I was in my old book store
backing up items once again. A dream
where the mall had been transitioned into
a NOAH's Ark and that I found a Catholic
church burrowed within the alters
of retail where both my old Pastor
an assistant pastors had chosen to worship.

There was the dream early last thurs
morning where I found myself sauntering
in a labyrinthine retail setting. Where
the majority of shops had been transitioned
into "Born again Christian" youth shops
with finely groomed youth raising there
hands in the shape of a Y and swaying
back and forth, blind hosanna’s echoing
from their lips. When I tried to avoid
their hallelujah harangues and get back
to my hotel room door "store"
a black police officer asked
me to follow him and then immediately
began asking questions about "Rwanda,"

The very next day at work I received
a phone call where a high school
senior asked me what the capital of
Rwanda was....



Then there was the beautiful dream

where I found myself traipsing through
an aqua-marine labyrinth tint of
commerce that may have been the mall
in Joliet where I sometimes look
for my friend Esmeralda

I looked for Esmeralda like I did
that day when I decided to surprise her in
mall at Christmas time,
missing her by
only forty-five minutes,
telling her co-worker
to please, five her an intense holiday hug for me
when she got in)

I would search all over the deep blue of the mall and end up
in a vector of the mall that looked like
it was contained in a giant blimp
I then exited the mall at the very
southern orifice and found myself
in a desert where a pink convertible
of Latino insurgents picked me up

Later in the dream it was Christmas morning and I was holding
the white palm of my Beloved muse in my hand
We found ourselves at my mothers house

My dark haired Muse was
wearing glasses and i asked

her if she wanted to see something which she nodded
her head. I then escorted her into the kitchen
and showed her the snowy pastures of my
mothers backyard--almost the same picture
as printed below--the same back yard
Adorned in a sleeve of holiday white





we then proceeded to have Christmas dinner.
My pastor from the church where I was confirmed
was there as well as her servant-oriented Grandmother
who passed away last summer. I began sitting up
tables as more and more of our relatives
began to filter into the small brick oven
of my mother’s house. I almost ran out of tables
but all of our relatives were there
rejoicing over the birth
of a spiritual renaissance of the heart.

And we were happy

...I find myself living in the house on Heading Avenue with the Psychic

and my best friend John (who sadly I only get a chance to see maybe

four times a year if I am even that fortunate) has driven down to P-town

to visit me. And we are celebrating. We walk through a long parking lot

that for some reason is in my back yard and talk about the seedy looking

serial rapist who purportedly has been lurking behind the fence near the

dumpster. When we arrive at John's sports car we immediately head out

to celebrate. I tell John about the relationship I am currently in with

the classy grad student, how she insists on keeping our romantic rapport

surreptitious. We drive past the corner of Western and Heading

(appears in dreams weekly) stopping at the Pakistani run conveient

store to get more booze so we can celebrate upon seeing each other once

again. We pick up several bottles of wine and even some wine coolers (????)

and I toy with the idea of purcahsing several 100 dollar cigars. Inside the

conveint store the meat is rancid and had bugs lying eggs on it but the

poor and in need are still buyin meat while John and myself purchase

booze in the onset of celebration. Upon leaving the store John and I

began to drink and cruise before seeing my current girlfriend

clattering chicly down the side of the street, her head tilted into

her cell phone, tilted into her shoulder blade as if clueless and pondering

the deeper metaphysics of life at the same time. My arms twisted into

a weathervane of oscillating limbs as Johns car breezed past her and I told him

"Quick, make a youturn, that's her." Which he did, even though traffic was

was heavy and we narrowly avoided a sever collision. Marshalling his vehicle the opposite direction, we skidded upi next to the elusive angel and I imminently jumped out

and ran up to her, to which she pretended that she had never seen me before in her
life, screaming for help!!!

From the Vault dream--scribed October 10th, 2007 (scraped from the coda of a letter to a dear freind the date therof)

Here's the dream-- It was a dream that happened the night after I had the dream where you were a cool hippie chick working at this really cool record shop bald with the exception of one beautiful long strand of hair that lingered from the top of your head like a tassel. In this dream was a dream where everything was extremely FLAT and ELONGATED, akin to the "esculent" dream I had a year and a half ago where I was both physically and metaphysially with you in the next world and I woke up dancing (ie--it was a dream where I was literallty there).... ***

I found myself with my mother in the parking lot of the House of Worship. We were in our old family station wagon and the House fo Worship was located in a dilapidated Hispanic Neighborhood, but it was still a Holy and sacred place. My mother was dubious to enter the building but she walked in next to me. When I entered the presence of God was ubiquitous (think flatland the the rich fresh snow white of the dome and the floor where nearly at the same level even thought they weren't)...inside the House of Worship the Golden Emblem for the Greatest Holy name was everywhere, only the gold contained different hues of rich gold that emblazoned in the Persian name in a refulgent teeming cursive of eternity. The House of Worship was nearly empty with the exception of a Moorish Man (he looked kind of like Snoop-dawg clad in a rich burgundy Turban) in the center of the building with a film crew who said they were producing a movie on the Dawn Breakers (or something hold of that nature)....I told my mom a little about the faith and then told her that I needed to adjourn to the cornerstone room to get, "spiritually refreshed."

Since everything in the dream snapped out in front of me in a long elongated hallway the cornerstone room was in the same level as the main dome or throne room. As I approachedthe corner stone room I noticed it was wallpapered with crayola drawings of Abdul-baha...hundreds of drawing that were drawn by little kids so there was a certain spunk and sloppiness about them (perhaps it was a portent to you teaching Sunday school). It was beautiful. All these sketches of Abdul-baha drawn by little kids. As I walked up to the cornerstone I knelt in the exact fashion I dropped to my knees on that beautiful spring day a year and a half ago when we held the stone as one spirit. On that timeless day, I held the relic with my left hand over you right hand. IN the dream, I was holding the stone with my right and it was sending a jolt of peace through my entire body and it felt like it was reading my palm. I thought of you (of course) in the dream and when I turned to my right looking for you there was an empty baby carriage stationed in the exact position where you knelt next to me on that beautiful day.

I smiled,feeling refreshed as if God had just squeezed my hand in encouragement and hope and walked out past the empty baby carriage, past the crayola'd pictured of Abdul-baha, back into the main portion of the House of Worship.

When I entered the dome there was music. The building was FILLED with worshipers and in the center of the dome was a beautiful violinist playing the most beautiful song I had ever heard. I walked near my mother was and bumped in David and Marianne, a cool Baha'i couple I used to hang out with when I was living with Uncle Mike. There three kids were with them as well (the oldest daughter, Katie, I was close too and left my art books for her when I left Uncles Mikes house....David was the gentleman I was standing next to when I attended your BRILLIANT lecture five years ago at GreenLake) It was peaceful being surrounded by so many followers of the faith. I embraced David and Marianne and the three of us cried and I told them I missed them. I then walked back to my mom where she was holding up a pamphlet on Jesus and tried explaining to her the relationship to Christ within the lineage and tenets of the Baha'i faith. I then put a CUBS HAT ON (Talk about hiding the COLOR OF YOUR NAME) and then escorted my mother out back to our vehicle where it was raining....waking up seconds later into a serene atmosphere of Early September light..... more stories to tell but t'night....superpoke foreheadkiss goodnight........

this architectural bliss appears to me in dreams at least once a week.....

Dream Hammock :On Valentines day I dreamt that the world was snapping shut into a giant silo and time was due for a harvest....

Morning of February 16th

I left the mocha-geometry of my lovers arms at rest and danced home across continents of glass of puddles early Saturday morning thinking that perhaps I had been relapse in extinguishing the fiery pupil of candles in my apartment, realizing that I was seeking the nest of my futon, the hollowed foam of my dream train ferrying the inside of my skull with a laser light show worthy to make even the most devout strung out Pink Floyd fanatics blush with crimson envy. The welcome matted dawn of February morning the gravitational lull and sway of a planet nursing my every whispered ambition as if the atmosphere of my planet served as a stratopsherical crib to lullaby me into a upside down umbrella of dreams a mobile cumulus of angels skirting somewhere near the piano keys of my clasped eyelashes--shut as if wild in meditative prayer.

The first dream movement I found myself visiting Gary and Deanna, a rural Baha'i couple who reside in the sprawling yawn of prairie that is central Illinois. The house we were positioned in was a modern day log cabin. Joe Whitby from my youth was with us as well as Hippie Nikki. The congregation was socializing when I looked out the transparent sockets of the window and noticed that dual gyrating tornados were funneling towards us, emitting a Herculean sear across the deep gray of the plains. I herded all of my cohorts into the basement, looking for Hippie-Nikki before finding her cocooned in a beachwood kitchen cupboard, marshaling her into the basement where my peers were taking cover by adorning themselves with green tarps.

We turned on the radio to listen to the shrill and broadcasted caveats transpiring around us. The first tornado zipped into the direction of the house and then boomerang around it so, slicing into the house next door. The next tornado breathed and gushed in the distance and eventually slipped into a cement-colored sash and eventually into nothingness. While everyone was still burrowed in their mountainous clans downstairs I went outside to assay the damage. The farm house next door was completely demolished, but the overall dali-esque monorail that constructed same-colored suburban houses and shift them one by one into the suburbs remained functioning and unscathed.

I then continued to walk out in the dusty pasture and, upon finding my old white station wagon (the vehicle I once lived in five years ago when I was homeless) entered the back of the vehicle like a corpse and slowly drifted into rest.


*****


Two days earlier, on Valentines day, I dreamt that the world was ending and that
a select cadre was chosen by a universal secret concourse to be planted underground and survive the pending rapture. We would stay underground for 100 years and then
rise to perpetuate the aesthetics of humanity for a new group of men. When we were below, mutiny broke out and I was chosen by a small group of radicals to lead the insurgents into the welcome matt of a new age (which, incidentally involved murdering some of my gradeschool bullies)....after the sub-strata revolution deemed itself a success, I found my self in a dome watching the movie below:





As I watching the movie as beautiful shoulder-length black hair
woman wearing glasses appeared in the vacant seat next to mine.
She was attired in a marshmallow-white blouse and during
the flashes of Armageddon, she grappled my palm
as if she was seeking the answers to an esoteric enigma
before placing my palm on her left breast. I spent
the remainder of the movie groping her breast, listening
to the sound her lips would create when touching her
in such an intimate fashion. At the end of the movie
the lady turned to me and screamed. A middle-aged
man appeared near her opposite shoulder and claimed
to be her husband. He was wearing glasses with a slightly
bald egg-dome of flesh peeking at the top. I politely
told him that I was sorry, that I had no idea that
the radiant creature next to me was in fact his spouse
and that I was deeply sorry. The woman then said that
she was going to charge me with molestation and that
I would lose my post as the savior for the underground
new race of man. I told her then that there was
no way I molested her since she placed the lines of my palms
on her own breath and seemed to need them their while the
Armageddon movie transpired.

She then yelped and I found myself surrounded
by what passed as futuristic authorities and
I caterwauled my lips into the corporeal welcome
matt of yet another day.


*****


After the twin-tornados and station wagon hearse I found myself
competing in an Olympic size swimming pool, trying to impress
the judge, Tiffany, one of the dual money-grubbing
shylocks I owe 500 bucks to. I was swimming in a relay
using an empty GUINESS box to bucket water and bring
it back to land. When I arrived back to land (after
traipsing through a wooded quest) I found myself
in an academic classroom, vertically assaying
old books cached a single glass roll.
The pedantic prof.'s got into an intellectual
discourse where we were trying to one up the
other with our knowledge on Western civilization.
I quoted him Wittgenstein as well as James
Joyce's "Ineluctable modality of the visible."

The prof then said I could pick out any old
text to have a study. As I would pick out a book he would
say, "no, not that one." And then I would select again
with similar results. Eventually the only
book I was allowed to take was a sallow bulletin
titled "MISCONCEPTIONS ABOUT CHRISTIANITY"

I then found myself walking outside of the
school ensconced in a thick blizzard of snow
tears of ice flecked the side of my cheek as I
walked to the parking lot where my mother would
pick me up in a very fifth grade after academic
bow practice fashion. I waited in the snow and began slipping in the
ice and eventually found myself in the wrong parking
lot, realizing that I had to trek even further
in the cold and ice to get
to the destination, to find the vehicle
that would certainly take me home.

snowflake drizzle and a weekend of scurrying dreams....

Friday, February 15th....

Eye-lids peeled open to reveal the dream
concavity of night a tye-dyed panoramic
pond of images where
I found myself endeavoring to scale the precipice
of a staircase that was gradually foundering
after my every step. The stairs were part of an
old building in west Peoria, now defunct, that
I used to deliver papers to. The front of the building
showcased a ma and pa restaurant simply titled
"the coffee shop" that was a potpourri of
finger nail grease mingled with working class smoke.
The back skull of the restaurant housed 90 degrees
staircases with apartments above. In the dream I kept
endeavoring to get to the steeple of the staircase,
although the staircases kept collapsing beneath the soles
of my feet every time I endeavored to trudge in a direction
that would lead me to the carpeted welcome matt. At times
the staircases formed a petting zoo like cage of
Byzantine proportions. At times I feared for the
voluble interior fabric of my dream anatomy
yelping as my square step with capitualte below
my upward movement, towards the top. Part of the
dream I remember hearing the vocal chimes of my
mother above me, instructing me to configure my limbs
in a certain fashion, stating that if I did so, I would
be able to avoid the frangible architecture collapsing
around my and reach the zenith. After half and hour
of getting stuck in the quagmire of skeletal grates
I finally reached the summit where an old man
(he looked like a moribund trucker) welcomed me
with a nod, snapping at the ash of his cigarette
Opening the door to the den of souls above
where both my mother and my sister
were already somehow stationed
waiting for me simply to join them.

Beautiful distilled dream
where I was in front of my old
house on Sherman in a moving
truck with my late father.
All of my bric-a-brac and
various supplies were located
in the back of the moving
van. The van was choke full.
I was in the passenger seat and my
dad was at the wheel.

Tears than began performing a
strip tease on the geography
of my cheekbones. I told my
father that I missed him
and that I was sorry
that we would never have a chance
to go to any "Sox" games
or just have a chance to
converse about grown up things.

The bony knuckles of Dad's fist
then groped the clutch,
I was already holding the clutch
so I found his hand on top of
my fist tightly, squeezing it with
intensity and vigor.
He looked back,
a flash of tenderness
sunken into his brow
identical tears splashing
and he told me that
he was sorry that he
couldn't (physically)
be there too.


We sat in the moving van
outside my old house
father and son
and exchanged tears.

dream morning Feb 10th


It is morning and I am late for
my paper route. The papers are
stacked together in an interminable
pyramid configured heap on the
corner of Western and Sherman
one block in the direction
of the rising sun from the dream
house where I was conceived
directly across the street
from the house she once arrived
ferrying a pagoda of books
driving a dilapidated vehicle
in tears......

The last three years of junior high
and the first three of high school
I was a paperboy. My father would wake
me up at 4:30 in the morning
and (often together) he would
escort me down the arteries
of West Sherman and Moss,
father and son delivering
scrolled squares of recycable
inks fraught with opinions
and outrage into the
porches of droopy visage
houses, the chill of morning
accompanied by the blush of
clouds in the east
the incendiary bald head
of the sun gradually
illuminating the scalp of
the planet into another
day of chronicled
activity and breath
the bulletin I perched
in their doorway
rubber-banded like a telescope


At least twice a year
I have a dream where
I have overslept and I am
late for my assignment
late for my job as a
paperboy. Worried that
do to my (dreams, my
sleep truancy) I miss
waking up on time for my
route.

In this dream I am
late for my route
and the papers are stacked
like Vedas or snow embankments
on the edge of the street
I am overwhelmed by how many
papers I have yet to deliver.


I walk up to the fountain
of bound newspapers and
realize that I am late,
a week late, a month late
the truss bundles resemble
orphaned babies of expires
print, Moses waiting to
float down the suburban
sidewalks of a middle-class
Nile before being flung
on the welcome matt of
a random americana domicile

AS I waited in the parking
lot of what is now
Khoury’s (pharmacy) the
parking lot of the former 7-11
where I used to deposit quarters
into the winking chrome slits
of the payphones when I was thirteen
dialing long distance to talk
to Ambra Haake, the beautiful
silk-haired radiant skinned
femme who lived 45 minutes
away and who I was too coy
to call in the company of my
own parents being present within
the house.....


In the dream I began to
wade through the bundles of
papers, in a very king of
the mountain third grade
February recess style, until I was
finally on the summit of
clasped exposition and editorial

When I looked down I saw that
Karen Whittier, sixth grade
side-pony tail late
eighties crush
was in the back of a
pick up truck and that
her father was driving.

I then abandoned the mountainous
heap of jaded journalism
and found myself in the back of the
pea-green truck with Karen.
As her father drove our
limbs wriggled out of our
respective raiment and we
began to dip into each
others bodies
wading in a stiff
pier of pubescent skin

As our loins proceeding to
bite and snap and smile
in the back of the truck
I realized that her father was
driving up the the lolling
hills near my grandmother’s house
the house my father was living
in while diagnosed with cancer
the house my mother inherited
still after all this time.

dream pebbles over the past week, noturnal ripples in the pond of a wished for sleeeeee........

There was the dream this week where
I was endeavoring to help my cool
boss host a wedding reception
for his daughter and ended up
working for the mafia instead
(Seriously, they wanted me to
to wound a person who was
randomly attending the reception
and when I vehemently refused
to do so I found out that the
AL Pacinoesque angular countenance
gangsta I was working for was really my
father (!!!)....the dream
spilled out across the ring bearers
pillow the night on the
anniversary of my father's death
six years and on the exact day of the
week (Tuesday) since his ill-timed
demise that I dreamed I was playing
for the Chicago Bears only the field
was in our old living room replete
with chandelier overhead and I broke
my nose playing against Peyton
Manninng, the no none shit
don't fuck around with me coach
cupped both of his sandpaper
paws around my nostrils and
cracked my olfactory beak
in a way that I felt
the bone shift and snap
before the coach lambasted
my work ethic and told me to
go on out their and halt Peyton
Manning...the dream continues
with my mother and sisters
driving myself across BIG SUR
topography to find my fathers
grave. IN the sea bluff
cemetery where my father
was to be bury was dotted
with THOUSANDS of pastel
life size figurines---think
the illuminated semi-nauseating
Nativity plastic fire hydrant
size replicas of Mary and Joseph
you see flanking the front lawn
of protestant America during
the month of December....only
these replicas were of
Families dressed in Sunday
school garb-pastel glowing
inert figurines of fathers
in bad ties and Sunday pants
and outdated jackets and mothers
in dresses and children attired
in blue buttons and pink Easter
bonnets and when I inquired to my
mother (over looking the tens of
thousands of stagnant mannequins
all facing the roar of the Pacific)
what they were she answered
"They are the Mormons."

Dream I had late Sunday night
was that of Comiskey Park
(which appears in my dreams
in a different poetic angles
a blurred nest of bodies, the
park oscillates and tilts as
I try to spot certain players)
I was walking with my best
friend Hale. The park was
brimming over with patrons
and we had a hard time
seeing the field from where
we were seated. The bullpen
was on a bluff and we talked
about just how shitty the sox
pitching staff is due to be
in 2008. The next thing I
know I was in my friends
basement who lived down the
street when we were growing
up. The house where he lived
has long been demolished
to make way for a wal-greens.
____ had an older sister
and in the dream the sister
escorted both myself and my
friend into her bedroom and
we took turns making love to her
and in the dream I could feel the
pale-white of her belly
the wink of her pinched navel
and the bulbous white of
her bosom pressed heavily into
my chin, as if taking my breath
away in strokes of suffocation.


(dreams danced with the first week o' february 2008)

In the dream prism of sleep she had the most beautiful face I have ever seen...

....and I was seated next to her at the back of a Jehovah Witness Kingdom Hall--
located (from what a dream compass could navigate while bathed in the nocturnal atlas of sleep) in Bloomington, Illinois. She was lanky, but not anemic in her semblance--her hair was a shoulder length of inky tresses stylishly pulled back and tucked into a fashionably knob behind the back of her head and alluring, as if her stowed dreams and heart would spill out from the wild ponds of her eyelids if one were to simply tug and reel on the back of her hair.

We sat in the back of the Kingdom Hall, our attention seemed focus on the inscrutable mystery behind what the preacher was blathering about. We seemed more
content with searching for a vision of God than we did in hearing what
the masses quite simply felt compelled to comment about his veiled presence.

And in the six feet that separated us, we felt like one being.

The pews were reclined on were like a sofa- couch and we sat on the back of what
I have learned is the Kingdom Hall.

Her skin was a sprinkled metaphysical montage of every shade of flesh known to man. It was smooth
burnished copper, an ashen frost forehead in winter,
a delicate cinnamon flavored
mocha. Mix the hue and tint of mankind’s 200,000 evolutionary
Dance since we were crowned homo sapiens in a blender
and the color of her countenance and cadence of her
cheekbones shall surely be announced
with every blink of her eyes.

I would sit next to her, in the same reclining sofa
shaped pew, in the church of the kingdom hall
feeling the invisible gossamers of her pulse
horizontally throb across from where I sat

At night I would leave the Kingdom Hall
(which, come to think of it resembled
somewhat of a log cabin on the inside)
and would return to my old bedroom
good ol' 2013 west Sherman
the room where I decided to become
a writer/lost my virginity/slash prayed
every night for my wayward soul
the house of my childhood that appears
in my dreams at least once a week.....

This happened for three consecutive days.
Each day we would sit in the same pew
where I would find myself closer in proximity
to there aesthetic electricity of her
smile than I would the previous day
we would both look at each other
feel each other, move closer to the
elusive other, although, with the
exception of stargazing into the
vicinity of the others forehead for lengthy
periods of eternity no word
was ever verbally boomernaged
between us. The third day
(waking up in my old
bedroom, heading back to the
pew in the Kingdom Hall church)
We found ourselves in the same pew
our bodies were now
sitting closer than they had ever
sat before. We were close
enough to grope hands
and I could feel the
time signature of her breath
beckoning me to come close
even closer to her body if
possible.

At the end of the
long day I turned to
her and finally spoke
asking her, very simply
and somewhat coy in a
junior high "need a
date for the sock-hop
last minute I'm asking my
band geek partner" sort of way
if she would like to meet for coffee

She replied back with a smile that
ricocheted flecks of light from the
world to come. I told her I would meet
her at a Denny's (????) for coffee in a
half hour and exited the Kingdom Hall
floating, emotionally elated
that I had a date with the
most beautiful girl I had ever seen...

On my way to the Denny's I found myself
ensconced in the arteries of an
emerald labyrinth of a futuristic
Barnes and Nobles. I went over
to the waterfall shelves where
I knew my books would one day
be displayed. There were lime-
aproned employees who kept
badgering me to make a purchase.
Visually I racked the shelves
searching for a rose to deliver
to my spiritual companion
after searching for an hour
I realized that the only thing I was
to give her was already in my chest
and that the gift would by metaphysically
reciprocated by the atmosphere of her
heart and eternal scent of her voice
close to my pulse. The bookstore
employee kept on badgering me
to make a purchase but when
I refrained they grew bitter
that I had monopolized so much time
within the contours of their
store and left them without a
single commission.

As I walked out into the
sunlight, anticipating the sight
of her smile I found that one
of the store employees had
stashed a puzzle (of a tree)
in my pocket as I walked out
Upset, and thinking that they
were trying to frame me as a
thief, I took out the puzzle
and smashed into jaded
fractures outside the store.


I saw the Denny's where I
was to meet my beloved.
It lay just beyond a bridge.
As I was attempting to cross
the bridge I saw that the
President of the University
where I work and the Basketball
team were drowning in a boat accident.

Without thinking I plunged into the
river fishing out each individual one
or two at a time. By the time I was
done saving prestigious members of
my university I realized that I would
never make across the bridge to see
the smile of my beloved.

I was too late.