singeing the dryspell with all my hearty clavicals or rather watching that old match burn out while the toes writher and slithe… finally, there are some darling pots and kettles rattling around the neck. and only the lallygaggers–the ones lolling through the streets and dawdling over worthless trinkets left bobbling on the ground–will see the thing that’s there to see… but what is that? only time will tell, that grand old sporting chance, that wracking pythagorean feverdream: beware the mystical, the treacherous triangles, the squares and circles and pointy stars; beware their corruscating edges and brilliantined degrees. nowhere is this more true than in the dumpster, where the true garbage goes parading by on velvet slippers and soft-shoe ratta-TAs! i’m dreaming of some gravy cookie-cutter animal: and where do those parts all fit together? where are the lego-nubbins that join that sinew to that bone to that frayed disposition of nerves and blood flagellations?
in spite of the animals that pieced that one together (badgers, scarecrow-crawlies, worms, sea anemones, circus bears and marmalukes) there was a certain giraffeish quality to the beasty that set my teeth on edge, and even sleeping, hear that teeth grinding, feel that worn enamel wear away. were those bleeding giraffeish teeth? why did that long neck have a certain swaying, pendulous, nebulous, terrifying quality? or were those really blood-stained giraffeish teeth? (there’s a fine distinction) and so that wicked, pinprick, patchwork animal made its slow plodding way through the scaverns of my brain, running that Red Queen’s race in the center of my skull, my mind’s eye plateau…
and that was only the other… i mean, to say, that was in the past. only this night past, i awoke continuously to find the hands clenched into deep fists, the shoulder-muscles straining, tensing for some dark blow… and wherefore does this? what dark humours are boiling over in the dreamscape of my mind? and how many mornings of this before the cracking comes? am i ignoring some pointed signal, with my brain and all, some deep warning that’s flashing dark morse signals into a fog enclattered?
and yet, still there’s a humming in the hind-brain, a whisper-campaign of some sort that i can’t even just quite hear…