SUNDAY A.M., THE TERRORIST while I hide in the little room.
A parade passes, then the Mercedes.
Two houses: furnace spewing water, boiling water in one.
I can’t find the key to the other house, where I would turn it off – am I naked? See, I’m barefoot.
At a Confederate officers’ banquet, toasting and dancing, cheek to cheek, a broken leg.
Now I’m painting – vault.
Scratched up concrete and brick patterns of floor and walls, ceilings, then the people – children at play, etc. – a public space, now viewed from above.
Am getting ready to serve the Daily Student as executive sports editor – or my dorm room, where I arrived early – no room for my roomies.
A lost hymnal with a hot concert pianist (but he’s not religious!). Kitchen table.
My sister, flowers or a meal.
DEER JOSTLING IN THE NIGHT WOODS as I gather stones in a pool of street light to pot bulbs to force open in mid-winter.
THE PANIC WHEN I SAY it’s never going to happen – the Children. Then marriage.
(In the gut, when I whisper.)
Just what the hell is Self-Realization, Swami Jnana?
While attempting to clasp objects, I am annoyed to find there are long thin strands of hair in the way. They’re growing from my palm and tangling in the object. It’s more a sensation of something awry, actually.
I HEAD AN ARMY UNIT AND have a young spoiled recruit or draftee who won’t accept discipline or follow orders. He soon has his attorney accompanying him everywhere. “Shut up!” and he keeps talking.
AT THE SCENE OF A PLANE CRASH – helping with the body bags (curiously like valet bags).
A CORNER OF THE CHIMNEY IS GONE, chomped away by a flying creature. The house itself is a huge flaking gray monster with two heads and forty paws. From the compound eye of its center stare forty children, each in some awe, while seventy-five toddlers weave in and out of the mouth.
I’m caught without a future and the past she has retracted. So this is the present?
I RECEIVE AN OFFER FOR A MASSAGE … from a male therapist. I hedge, but he promises it will be the best I’ve ever received. He uses both hands simultaneously, the thumbs like motorized screwdrivers. Incredible!
DOORBELL RINGING. I wake, realize it’s not the sound of my doorbell here.