[this poem is a bit about a dream, a bit about a reality]
enigma puzzle play
dream in stained-glass terms;
what I got was hours of complex rambles
fumbling through jewel’d drawers
in search of that oh little something more
do I force her here n’ onto this page, this space?
to amend a love that I beneath-the-surface hate?
prepend my end with a blow—
with obvious traits
to be off with it! to halve a problem, stir it with quixotic confusion
and then let it bake
will the frosting lure onto stage
bits of imagery that will hide mournful tastes?
exeunt preludes, ye errands are afforded!
let’s start this middle at a blissful rate:
streamed staircases => ornamented cabinetted contrivances => bit-crushed side-sampled data flakes
from my memory’s mind,
topiaried menace bites,
pysch-whirl spikes of close-your-eyes dys-paradise
i’m lost in here, (in here), ((in here))—i’m lost in whatever this here be.
its grey and blue cold stone carved walls, a spacial puzzle crafted by merciless Celctic burdened bards.
i loop beat myself with anxieties in threes,
search fail repeat
perma-feedback thorn-barbs confuse my innocences,
i am dronelike dead fried,
deep hurt then dried,
with drips of cold spark dew bulbs, til i nullify my neutral eyes,
fall back up the tunnel with worse-than-wrong cries…]
what I make of it all, lest you think it fake, is a real spindle of tragic yet trivial fare;
this burden is [two-second breath of medium depth] fair
—this of which i’m so lately aware—
yet now it’s a lesson left on a page ready to file back in rotational space,
back inside, inside, inside…
there are still happened moments inset in there, that there of mine,
constructed, found, redacted, frowned,
intertwined with better bits, those better bits, my better bits…