Dreams

I wound up on your island,

Near your front porch where

They put in a restaurant and stamped

It with the U.S. logo. You came by,

Slick and quiet, to say hello.

I tried to act cool, like I did not

Want to know everything. But you

Knew I did. You did not indulge me.

You had the aura of a man who

Had been fucked by a real woman

So many times you became a real

Man, and I was soft and sterile,

Pre-menopausal in body, mind and

Spirit. Everything was different, you

Said.

 

She was with her new friends,

A Syrian-Israeli female soldier

And a group of cronies. One of

Them asked you, “so she has to have sex

With you to live here?”

“No, to be a Priestess,” you said,

imploringly.

You looked slick and edgy,

Cold, the warmth was gone.

You did not want to meet my

Family, you did not want to meet me.

We are light years away now,

Blood pumping in opposite

Directions. It reminds me of

The Skeleton Woman. I must

Become as death and lie with her.

You must become as Death and lie

With her. Do you have the Skeleton key?

Just the blood pumping heart

machinery.

I had a dream God laughed at me.

He said, “woman like to pretend they

Are superior to men, the creators of

Life on Earth. To give birth, we must

Have a seed on continuity. Why do you

Women think I made you so pretty?

So much ugliness in life already, most

Of which you bring. How else could I

Ensure productivity never cease? You

Still need a seed.”

What is to come but the dark and vivid

Dreams of night?

Where my lovers fade, where my true

Love waits, making jewelry and taking

Classes on metaphysicians. He is chubby

Or he is from Maryland. My dreams,

Reminders of those who are stayed with

Me. Not real but in the sense that I

Care. My lover, the man of my dream,

Touched me on a mountaintop of

Crystals. But he did not tell me

He already had a lover.

The Skeleton woman objects. To be

Initiated, you must fuck a corpse.

Maybe necrophiliacs are on to

Something. Perhaps I should date one

Of them. They would love me even when

I am dead.

Life is full of false security.

The only constant is change.

The western world wants to put us

In boxes, and bury us before our time

While they keep corpses alive. Breathing

Is not life, not only breathing anyway.

Wolf packs travel with a vanguard of

Elders to give the rest of them a chance

To get away, to protect the young.

When did we stop living life for God?

Self-preservation or immortality.

These days feel like self-preservation.

My womb is empty and hostile.

My spirit is empty and hostile.

They asked me what I wanted to be when

I grew up and I said, “a tree.” Well, only

In a dream.

 

 

 

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