On Missing the Old Nightmares
The path beyond my poetry
leads rarely to poetry of
the socially dogmatic self-satire
that has sadly become reality
but here I sit on this foreign trail
somehow familiar to muscle memory,
it is a path of nonsense and
unearned self-satisfaction, littered
with unraked autumn leaves
seasoned by spring petals falling,
the ground as envisioned by
a poor Jackson Pollok imitation.
Along the path I find a snake
eating its own tail, warming itself
in the relentless midnight sun.
I say fool,
you’re only eating yourself,
He said I know,
but ain’t I delicious though?
I suspect that I’m dreaming,
and the dream may be colored
by the current political climate.
Just then, I hear horrid shrieking,
and look up to see a bald eagle
being pursued and assaulted
by an ornery seagull half its size.
That’s when I knew for sure that
my dream was influenced by politics,
but the haughty irony of the scene
filled me with an odd calm.
After all, you know
it was just one deplorable scavenger
trying to grab the pussy
of a better looking deplorable scavenger.
Business as usual.
Written for NaPoWriMo Day 14 prompt: “write entries for an imaginary dream dictionary.”
I took some license with the prompt because I wasn’t feeling the dream interpretation aspect of it. Sorry I’m so late to the game. Getting ready to take a road trip, and I’m a bit stressed.