There is Dream & There is a River & Therein Lies the Natural World

The white table glows in the room 

& on the table there is a camera:

A Hasselblad from Gothenburg, 

Sweden, blessed w The Gota Alv,

Best known for industry & trade, 

& served as model & inspiration for

The Pony Express snaking its way

From St. Joseph, Missouri

Through Olef Bergstrom’s Nebraska

to Sacramento, California

Where I drove a 1974 Volvo

Into the ground 

& the woman I bought it from

But never paid, repossessed it

One morning while I slept 

One off & woke to find a box

Of papers & half glass pipes

& twisted & burned strands 

Of Chore Boy in the foyer 

Of the place on 26th Street

Where I joined the denizens

Of the distal ring of downtown:

Hustling pool @ The Monte Carlo,

Arrows @ The Streets of London,

Sitting motionless @ night

In the Capitol Garden

W frozen bronze statues 

that never spoke a word

But wept a chasm of tears

In the footlights

Of the Vietnam War Memorial.

I believe I dreamed everything.

The arrival of Mr Sorrow 

In the anteroom of the striped house,

His left hand clenched beneath his jaw

His right finger extended 

To the many rooms 

I will eventually occupy

& materialize in & know

I have seen them before.

One in which I lay 

beneath a clear tent

Bound to oxygen 

I can no longer

Summon on my own,

Like my neighbour Mr Sherman 

Gasping Between syllables 

& eking out sentences

While he paused on his front lawn

The mower humming & kicking 

Out gasoline & his wheeze a tiny

Drone that preceded my love

For post-modern 

classical avant-garde

& somehow was a harbinger 

Of my fate, my shit lungs

That I inherited from some unknown

Early twin in Spain or Poland or Ireland

Who poured whiskey over ice

& was unfaithful & unkind

To everybody he knew & then

In a hairpin life-turn 

W a dead right arm & skin

As thin as tissue-paper 

& a head full of invisible friends

Stopped lying & stealing & drinking

& slowly became someone else,

The person they wanted to become

Which was nobody.

Nothing.

A wisp of air.

A downed tree branch.

A circus tent collapsed

On the edge of town.

Ray Bradbury & his waffle iron 

Frying eggs in the morning

For his children who didn’t know

He had a job @ all other than

Caring for them, which he did

Wholeheartedly,

& then lit a tiny lamp

@ night & wrote 

Stories about Mars 

& tattoos & circuses,

Not necessarily striped,

But dangerous & fun

Like the one I worked in 

As Half-Human/Half-Ram

Alongside The Fat Lady

& The Silent Man

for years.

Another room where a small child 

Is huddled in the corner 

& won’t look @ me

& I have an uncontrollable urge

To kick it.

The dream has variations 

But is essentially the same:

Mr Sorrow in stripes.

A house w many rooms

That I cannot exit by going back 

The way I came, I can only proceed

& every time the spiel is the same:

“Are you ready to play the game…?

Are you you ready?”

Once,

I got my ass kicked by a friend

Because I had stolen his girlfriend

& she was the only one who

Didn’t know I was the wrong choice.

I stole more from both of them

Then the beating could cover.

There is a whisper of a scar

On my top lip where his fist

Opened the skin.

“I got what I came for.” 

He said to me as we stood there, 

My blood spilling onto the sidewalk

& His face howling w rage

& the knowledge that no matter 

How many punches he threw

He could not change the trajectory

Of events & he could not regain 

what he lost & so desperately

Wanted.

The moon is full & shines 

incandescent

A giant white tablet in the sky.

A perfectly round egg.

A hug & slap from outer-space.

The natural world is a letter

Filled w sentences in an obscure hand.

It sits on the table in the dark room

Next to the camera, the envelope torn 

Open & discarded on the floor.

There is no return address.

Inside the envelope w the letter

A map folded several times.

Many times. Folded & folded.

It resembles a square & I am

Not willing to unfold it.

It does not matter if I open the map

Because I am going to the destination

Designated on the map & I don’t need it.

I will get there anyhow.

& I don’t need to read the letter

But I have read it many times already.

I especially like the part on page three.

After the greeting & the pleasantries

& the early trouble that came & went.

In your house you have found

A table & a chair & a camera 

You hear the voices in the other room

Your name has changed a thousand times

The white table glows in the dark room

There is no chain on the door

There is a moon in the sky

Round & perfect & white

So unlike an egg

It is the most perfect egg

You have ever seen