Erratic Dreams (Poetry)

Time slips — deviates, and plays the mind —
suggestible and flexible —
these alternatives all versions of the tale
the details interchangeable
the plot entirely malleable —
it swings and slides
skips between dimensions and provides
a fiction for the moment that’s believable.

Film clips unreel — the vision multi-screen
jump cuts zooming in and out of frame
no rules to follow —
this is all an odd and surreal game
of mix and match
with characters who morph —
exchange their hero/villain faces
gender-switch
without going into Make Up.

All props are symbols —
lilies — hearts — doves and crosses
carved into a sky that bleeds for me
its chilling faithlessness —
I am the wingless bird who struggles free
afraid of shadows —
that old B-movie monster shrieks and howls
its song of grief.

I haven’t time for all these rewrites —
the constantly evolving script fast-edits out
all sense of destination —
I’m running nowhere as the backdrop crumbles
hearing nothing but the blood-race river
and the voices of the drowning
swirling in the soundtrack —
tugging at my reason...

That scene all done.
Stark — the fresh-chalked clapperboard —
‘Morning’ scribbled on —
an impromptu take.