I was on my bedroom floor when the first heard bombs resound. I heard them say nothing is as you see, everything is as it is. Then the second resounding, still i laid flat on my floor staring up with my eyes closed. The vibrant hum of a hummingbird whistled about my bedroom window, i softly breathed hello. This is our custom. The red neck and green feather friend of mind flies by and quells my loneliness with her hums, i say hello, she goes on; but she’ll be back again. Of this I’m sure.
Whether the bombs are real escapes my surety. Surely the dreams we’ve had, running like mad sisters through the green angel wing swaying fields, swimming the endless sea, searching for eachother. Surely when in our dreams we’d found another, saved the paintings, the white screen door, put all forgiveness at forefront for the deaths multiplied and hurts were nothing in the face of them. Our new love not like when hurts boomed in a heart. No, our love, a soft echo purr and light fractal glisten in our eye like the sun mirrored off the hallucinogenic metals of the flying casket they called a virus.
They got creative in their killing, they did. Handing us something we could all hold in our hands together and feel the vanity of our empty hands holding our metal caskets of vile communication. But its not that vile really. Many lives were saved by the phones, many lives killed themselves over it too. But life is sacred.
They called modernity the safekeep for victorians, the ancients, they’d all boomed dead in their own way and surely we had to have some sort of death to call our own, i just never imagined we’d hold it so dear. That you’d leave me here on my floor. Just hearing the soft echo of a wound i’d never know, just remembering the future of a better love, just fashioning my intellect, just sharpening my memory loss, just wanting to forget everything excepting the times we were happy. And how in the field with the angels swooping through the miniature, the long angles of shadows full of light, forged us into a shared dream, asleep by the lake.
I awoke. She said she enjoyed watching me sleep; so i went back to sleep.
The bombs kept coming. Why is it always the bombs? The gates? The fates?
I met victoria by the water, she held out her hand full of petals and cast them to the wind. I lost her in the flurry of autumn color. She just vanished before, i never knew her, i never know someone.
I’d account it to feeling. Why the bombs keep reoccurring. When a genius sleeps withs me and all the lights turn on. Im in love. And all my fanciful friends depart me and say I’ve lost touch with their reality. Like i’ve been in some stupid drowse and happened only to stumble into their world and fall right back out when i felt a connection. Maybe thats why the planes fly overhead. Maybe thats why i don’t know why.
I awoke again at the water with her. But she’d left already. It was only her memory with me, for i’d altogether lost mine. Like a little box of magic time talismans she left this moon shirt, that fruit drawing, and a skull. I wore the skull like a helmet, i stood at the frontiers of the water, wiping my eyes from slumber and sipped chocolate milk. I politely set down my cup, opened my mind, jumped into the water.
I landed in the reflection of a rain cloud; now in the sky i could evade the miniature worlds i always kept adept at illusory fancifications. My world always being pure fantasy and the house of cloud suit me fit. I’d be the ones dropping tears of refreshment for the many. The oriental flowers and the greek ones too. I’d water them and they’d put glass and blankets over the roses when all i wanted to do was water them with life. They’d hid themselves from me on account of that embrace. I’d lost myself entirely in my dreams, and whenever i awoke i was never where i last remembered sleeping.
I awoke on the veranda of a Parisian play, they pulled back the curtains and there i was before millions. I looked over the green railing at them and they stood in awe. I told them to go away, to be love to themselves and let me live in relation to my dreams alone. They laughed and jeered. I turned and the studio lights dimmed dramatic. I wept and they wept too. I ran off stage and they followed.
I ran in fields of flowers; invisible daisies, dead sunflowers, cutting heart roses. They just watched and they watched. They called themselves my fans and i said no, you are my friends. Why do you say such things? They just smiled and kept watching.
Through the fields i found a plain, a lone tree in the valley, i remembered this tree. I turned and could see no one any longer, no one watching. I nestled my lone body to the lone tree and i slept together.
I awoke in a woman’s arms. She missed me she said. She missed me she said she watched me all through night and then she kisses my forehead. My eyes had hazed in the nightmare, i felt fine i said, only wish i could see her more clearly. She gestured a lighter flick at a candle wick, turned on an illuminating chiaroscuro scene. I could only see her skins color she was so close, could smell roses faintly, warm breath on my upper lip; and even then the drama of the cast kept only the illumination nearer than could comprehend. She told me the gospel, Jesus who’d taken all misgivings of our past present and future living into his own God manifested born human body and died our death that we might in faith live eternally in love in God as one forever. Fully forgiven for living in love. I agreed and fell back asleep into her arms. In my dreams i heard the candle flicker, flash apparitions of reality to the backside of my eyelids, a door open, someone entering.
I awoke and she stood naked before me. The candle lit her body half from the right side and in all the glory of light her curves echoed along and the shadowed bedroom wall. I reached out my hand, gesturing her come closer, but she only stood still. She blew a fanciful mwah kiss that coincided with the old candle consuming itself. Smoke billowed. The room went dark again.
I wasn’t dreaming, i knew it. I’m not dreaming. But i could not see, i could only feel her presence near and climb over me, into this swinging chariot of dreams with me. We hurried nowhere, laid still as the crescent moon in twilight, we owned the sky, opened up the horizon. We went behind their eyes.
Out poured the planes, the multitudes of lonely. And we did not care. We are alive. Awake as ever, booming and embedded in a glory haze. Glistening like glitter in paint. Mounted to a wall. Watching a painter lay flat on his floor, just dreaming, listening in.