Friday, April 21, 2017

here are the bones and flesh of the imaginative dream

all these dreams we have
how they falter in the cold and rain of existence 

the sun strips the leaves from the snow clad branches
and only the bark shining stays in memory 

here is the day running to the end of its journey
and here is the dreaming all frayed and soiled by trivialities 

here is the ocean of singing
that I put out as a layer of fabric in this poem

here is the land like a disc
I throw out from the nothingness

here are the tired hands of the night
that are tied to the chair of evening

and here are the mice of silence
trapped in the jaws of the trap of music

I take out the hard edges of reality
and simply smooth the surface to a fine drawing

I wash my hands clean of the grime of falsity
and I walk the road to the next place in the imaginative dream

I am curious about what will happen next
I am waiting for the ground to open and swallow invisible hooves 

I am waiting for dragons to flame fire at the trees
and the stones to fall from the skies upon the concrete buildings

I wake myself carefully from the sleep of living 
to enter the dreams I am dreaming in poems 

every day I work at the edges of reality
and then I take the rest of the day

to simply watch the land
in it's untidy disarray and fantasy

I ask myself
if the grasses take forever to plait their hair

should I not take a decade or so
to learn history?

I watch the milky clouds
foaming in the blue cup of sky

and the heron at the side of the river
ripping out the stitches of the silver fish

that were sewn there
I watch the dark ink blots of the crows

make a patch of shadow
in the dusky skin of the meadow

and I wonder to myself
why do I even bother with people?

these events in the world
are all noise    the only worthwhile things are these

here are the bones and flesh of the imaginative dream 
a bony limb of a sapling extending out of the dirt

a collapsing city of thistles
and the quilt of leaves fraying to paper notes

I wish I had a way to trap these invisibilities
in this poem   I conjure them up from the imaginative dream

I place them in the rusks of this moment
and I gnaw on them  

here is the soundless country
and the singing that comes from that mouth

is also a dream that I dream
I can't say what this singing means

I only know
it's necessity

Armen Gasparian:
ZAZ - "Si jamais j'oublie" [Official Video]

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