Have you got a hangover from this morning’s dream
intensely present, dark and blurry edges shadowing the green and sunny day?
Are you afraid of Hell? Will some final spiraling fall be worse
or even different than its simultaneous presence all these years:
the loss and grievous mourning, accidents of misfortune,
illness and loneliness
a life of scary dreams skirting the edge of consciousness,
knowledge of greed and mendacity, complicity,
commissions and omissions –
years of hours like fingers on a 3D Ouija board pushing/following
triangulated, magnified messages – half hopeful,
half despairing of even having a fate, for shouldn’t it be happening already –
realizing (quietly, desperately) it is.
Outside the window lawnmowers groan and get on with it, droning
mechanical answers to a neighborly consensus of aesthetics
and dissuasion of vermin.