rebuilding the day

October 21, 2013 § Leave a comment

o.k., so
I didn’t wake up
screaming,
my t-shirt was not teaming
with sweat and
I can say with some
degree of certainty that
my breathing couldn’t be
any harder than usual
for a guy as out of shape
as I seem

still, it wouldn’t be
much of a stretch to
insert here,
that the episode could
be classified:
nightmare

that being said
one would think that
a little dread
would come into play
when one’s head is in
a cocoon of sleep,
casually observing the
deterioration of dreamscape

yet, I was unafraid
in this world
where I could only sway
in place as
familiar landmarks fade into
a trace of
otherworldly dusk one at a time
entering elevators of illusion

brightly colored
plant life falls away
leaving behind
shadowed gray chalk smudge
undefined replacements
which eventually blow down
empty streets
silent devils of dusty confusion

I cup my ears to hear
what I thought were
songs of adolescence –
they seemed to
rear up on horizons and
the more I strained
the more
discordant they became
until the air filled
with underworld music
I tried to follow –
soon to lose it

still, my heart
in this collapse,
seemed to harbor
warmth by contrast
which is why
I could wake without
a lasting mark, as if I were
guided by mythology,
able always to
shake it off
and start to rebuild
again
the waking day

(c) 2013 Fred Whitehead

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