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and outdated jackets and mothers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)