These poems were written in response to some dreams that all happened in the same week. Some of the dreams were waking dreams or reveries experienced in odd circumstances, some were compelling enough to wake me up at night.
I love having dreams, it seems to me that the unconscious state is such a vital part of our lives and we can learn so much about ourselves by paying attention to what is being offered at these times. You may or may not agree with psycho-analytical or spiritual interpretations of dreams, but it is fairly certain that they embody a part of us that is different from our conscious mind. I would like to know more about that part.
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Keeping TimeWent to visit,not the first time,kept it brief andsupra fiscial;cut the grass,raked my brainsremembering orlooking for rememberiesnever mine to loose.Cut the hedgebreath is filled with Cypresusland of dreams.Saw where you layat the finish of eachcyclenow, the house stands exhaustedwaitingfor both of us to leaveI leftthe clocks wound to countthe passing of you.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`By the SureHer hand on his chestplaceda sentence,words unheardin his hurry to digressfrom future structuresracedbeside guarded watersleaving no foot unturnedparted from the pathbeneath a burning bridgeoutpacedpursuit imaginedto swim in paranoid waterswhose swerving pulldrowns all ambitionchasteand washed cleanof all desires savethe one who leaveshere.~~~~~~~~~~~`The HuntSewing closed a gutted fishstuffed and cookedwhilst carrion gorge and bickercrows and rooksthrough soiled darkness come wolves or youthto hunt packedgrinding their teeth on polished stonestake abackintention veiled or slumberingarisesclimbs the walls naked and hiddendisguisingthe meaning of this day’s closingangled downlooks upon a distant surfacethe world roundcurves beneath our soft footed soulsin ambushday breaks upon the human heart’sloving touch.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~PuddingAfter the threshing and crashingof stones there isa time to be calmed,bathed in stillnesswithout motionand listen to, harken unto,hearthe roaring of my heartheld in its bony cagearterial arms spread widegrasp the bars andpant in rhythmic wantthe meter or weightof bewilderment, or whatbe wilder meantwhilst the heart leaksfrom passion’s gourdand I am a desertin the oasis of understandingor a dessert in the halls of the just.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`ar 2025
