Thursday, May 11, 2006

Fever Dreams

1. I dream I have written a book, and I call it The Black Boy and the Preacher's Snot.

2. A whole band, crashing cymbals, timpani, tubas and trumpets and all, marches through my dreams, their golden epaulets waving and brass buttons shining. "What band is that?" I ask.
"That," someone says, "is the Kahntoum Hamish Duck Band."

3. I am a performer in a play, but I am unable to remember what the play is, or what role I am expected to do, or any of my lines. The other actors are annoyed when I try to ad lib. I run around backstage looking frantically for a script, and when I finally find one, I have forgotten how to read. My lines say: Moup krezlen per remsler diem fa borudot numlem ....

4. I sometimes write great poetry while I sleep: "There are no fragile dogs in Heaven. Marry whom you will."

I can't usually recall any of it, but this one I wrote down before it dissolved in daylight: We had but one thing for dinner,
a tooth,
and that was passed around
several times
before it was clipped down.

many great and important people
sat at either end
of the table discussing
whether it is nobler to live
or to die.

What was the question?
I forget.
What is the answer?

4. I dream I have written a child's picture book with the title "Christ Walked Among the Crucified." Inside, there is a picture of a huge tree, no leaves, but many long thorns--and upon each thorn, impaled at the middle is a man, woman, or child, doubled over in agony. The next page shows the same people, smiling, and all with little brown bandages in their middles where the thorns have been removed. The text says, "And with His touch, He healed the wounds of those who died for Him."


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