Uploaded on Oct 25, 2011
Something I dreamed in the the psych ward. Of course it was a portent of the Tsunami of emotion I would have no way to meet. Dreams mirror the dreamer.
If it's a little disjointed - blame the well meaning Psych Nurses who kept interrupting my writing to ensure I was still shiny side up / rubber side down.
Tsunami Sunday ~
Central Park. Scrapers looming over to join the conversation.
These Blue-Glassed Buildings have life. Have Sense. Curious Heart of this City.
I stand in their Midst. Wonder at the number of Clouds and Days that have railed by Their Peaks. Glistening like Snow. The man-made Speaks.
These years have dug grooves into pathways. Built up Edwardian Edifice, only to see them levelled. Stilled. Brought low and planted steel in Their Dusty Bones.
The New looms over the Old. As if to re-commence the dialogue with Sharper, Shinier tongue.
Talking Buildings say! We are the Future. Head to head they think of knowing. Their feet while twisting in Edwardian boots are cut. Their hands are in each other's pockets. Steadying upon Grandfather's feet.
The Man in the park races by. Hand on Hat tie flying. Run! You'd better Run! There's a tsunami coming. The Big One they say.
Where? Cries Another. Here. Replies some Other. I just heard it now. On the radio.
There is no high ground and only a monkey can climb these Scrapers. I'm not a monkey. I'm not a man. If I were Cartoon either I'd climb to safety.
Under the Bridge is it safe? How high the waters? This time. Scan this horizon. Find No Sure Thing. Tidal waters a flat land.
Then comes the looming Blue and White-capped Peaks. Japanese Tsunami talks over American Peaks. It's man-made language which Neither of them Speaks.
Water wall engulfs it All. Hooded pounds of blue shot through with sky and sun. Descends a wet shroud to Steal Breath.
Open eyes beneath these waves. The Park an Airless Aquarium. Bolted-down benches and Hapless Trees bare shift in their diving. No where lower to sink their bottoms.
The Hat Tied Man is pulled on by. Holds a pocket of Life in his Mouth. Beneath the sea, He's flying! .... The Vital of his lungs soon gone.
Head to shore it's there No more but Up is Out is Air. Currents pull. Tsunami Steals. But not this time from me.
I've a Head that must Break the shoreless waves. Not even an Island of glass-framed Land to shore by. Will I fall these silky depths?
Transistor Radio Speaks when cared-less Days remind in memory leaks. Ancestors Radio waves.
Then Grandfather's muddy ankles pried loose. No Where for feet to Go. Grandfather and Glass lie down together. Mother and Child. The Chicken lies down in its Egg.
This Blue Breath Blue Ribbon Blue Death shawls them All. Says I. A quiet blessing.
They may rest in pieces beneath the Blue Ribbon Winner. Tsunami first place finisher. Final word issuer. Tucks them both to sleep. Abed where Words fall down. Civilization Sleeps.
I stand on these wetted bones. Cut my feet on Sleeping Steel. Trip on Grandmother's petticoat web. Tangled ankles frown on water-logged Lung and Skirts.
Kick free them This Tender Fish. Shake free these Widow's Weeds. Temperance strokes to Rise a Surface.
To water round a neck freed from vice. I'm Breathing.
DISCLAIMER stuff: The words are mind. Some of the images are public domain. The rest of the images belong to the artists who created them (if you are one of those, please let me know. Happy to give credit where credit is due).
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