Saturday 9 June 2012

EPIC DREAM JUNE 8TH 2012

i'm following a tattooed woman 
down a residential street/quiet background bustle
we go back to her giant house
there are two men there/normal types
all relationships specifics are kept from me
and the silence as they move between rooms is tense and loaded
invited i explore/find others visiting like me
lost in corridors and small bathrooms
and stairwells/all the undecorated bedrooms are empty
and in the huge kitchen with a long breakfast bar
all the windows let in strong light and everyone is down here
and things seem ok for now
outside in the grounds - like a desert stretching to the brown horizon 
in the distance are ancient ruins and a new bridge under construction
i am saying I HEARD THESE HOUSES WERE BIG to one bearded man
but
much to do i have to leave soon . . . 
the tattooed woman says to me I HAVE A PRETTY BACK
and shows her summer brown torso covered with tall blooming roses
and nervous
i whisper WHATS YOUR SURNAME, I WILL FACEBOOK YOU 
she giggles and pulls her top over her face like a happy child
i leave
i have much to do
everything is worse
i forget it is 
then i remember that everything is worse
and there is much to do 
much to sort out 
must find the office 
in school now - and the admin block is hidden
in history class i'd rowed with a long gone friend and punched his face to blood
swimming to his river boat i see him slink away/seen me but leaving
and written on a ball in the prow of his boat is an apology note on an xmas napkin/dont know how that makes me feel
i am diving into the river twisting like a seal and on the shoreline silver kettles shine in the sun
i remember everything is worse/must get things in motion
must find the admin office and TELL SOMEONE
on the shore is my shack i not been back to for a long time
and i lay my stale bedding out on the veranda
next door bill bailey is airing giant gas masks/hanging them in a row in the sea breeze talking continuously
that nurse i know is walking down my veranda
hair in bunches and yellow blusher on her checks all her jewellery is bright childs plastic
YOURE ALL EIGHTIES i call/try to climb the old wood railing but my hands are rubber
and tho leaning down she doesnt reach to help me
and i lay there 
worrying 
in the sand

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