smelting your dreams

in the dream there was the tropical curvature
of the benevolent sunshine earth

the racked focus out of the blistering ice
to an armature 200 feet up in the air

there, a bay
beyond that, forsaken whelks
& pernurious periwinkles paragliding
into the breeze-sibilant palm fronds
quaking & shaking their nuts-coco
in profligate ways

in the dream there’s a big reunion
& no one comes

there’s a moment of telescoping horrors
hours of dark grays, smoke, black

the hypnopompic nightmarish
crepuscular — the tang of oil in the air
thick black raindrops

avuncular sam is at work again
smelting your dreams —
castrating —
then rendering human fat

the machine that never sleeps
coming to a dream near you

What I’m Reading:

It’s raining hard today.
The day is more like night,
the spring is more like fall,
and in the yard a driving wind lays waste
to the little tree that, seeming not to, stands
steady and firm

— Umberto Saba / “The Little Tree”