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I wanted to stay in the dream.
I don't know the dream, only how it felt: silently noisy, softly pixelated, muted and colorful, an underwater disco. Usually I welcome the brassy glare and sharpness of waking reality. For decades I've leapt from sleep, charging into consciousness like a rebel soldier. The alarm trumpeting my assault on the day. But on this morning waking trickled into me slowly. I went to relieve myself leaving my glasses behind. So strange it is for me to be glassless I imagine someone asking me "Where are your glasses?" I imagine my answer, so real it startles me: sometimes I tire of the clarity of the world. Sometimes I crave the fuzz and the blur of the undefined.
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Like a red wine stain
on a ball gown Like a cup of rainbow sherbet dropped on hot asphalt Like Christmas decoration spilled from a toppled trash can strewn in the dirty alley snow Like your shimmery, polished toes in the front yard grass surrounded by tactical boots because of me. |
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