I'm in a crowd of people walking down an airport concourse
a wide, high hallway with red carpet
on the walls and floor. It changes.
through stark white corridors that twist and dip,
sharp-angled guts. To proceed,
we must get down on hands and knees. Headfirst
down and around a corner--
I can't see past. A large-framed woman
slithers through, vanishes. My turn is next.
I wake up gasping. Sit up, as people do.
Minutes pass. I lie down to sleep--
the dream recaptures me. I wake again.
I can't do this.
I'm in a gray metal stall at the WOMEN's
to meet someone clandestinely. Sure enough,
they come to arrest me. I escape somehow
(that part's not clear). A kindly family of refugees
offers to drive me west, toward safety. In the east
a cloud of yellow smoke towers above the prairie. That's where
I have to go.
I choose to stay and fight.
toward a distant landscape of green patches
I realize I've forgotten the parachute. That was stupid! But
I'm not afraid. Somehow, I think,
I'll think of something before I hit the ground.
I'll learn to fly.
in a small dark room
ambushed by infinity
Available! High-Voltage Lines, Knocking from Inside
Monday, October 29, 2012