and another in another--what an oddity I must
appear to others--this wraecca--this Hanged Man
dangling head down--the sky below him--
who came as a speck on the Dali horizon--
looming larger amid the melted clocks
and creaking crutches under the shadow
of a monstrous cuckoo's unmoving flight--
luckily I saw no one else--as if I were some other
species of life they did not want to see themselves as--
and so hid--how desolate to know the depths of...
the sun pries open my lids
I rouse myself--the dream's upshot forgotten--
and here--another morning of drowsy mind
stirring in the flesh--and the heart again...
Content (c) 2008-2010 Philip Milito.