the familiar opening
it’s a
museum
(a nuanced version)
a
futuristic hotel
(ala The Jetsons, delving into the 1950s,
jetpacks
even, his boy Elroy)
a palace,
the best
it’s
usually big, bigger than the universe
I am escorted through infinite rooms
plush, svelte,
the real
estate agent is circumspect
always
colours
velvet
it’s noir
it’s every
bloody thing
how can I
afford this?
would they even
consider my application?
let’s just continue
the dream tour
I'm going to do a few quiet handstands
the curtains
are thick, I could hide behind
crimson
amber
all
possibility
possibilities
I am worthy
of this emerald staircase
do I have the
bond, the references?
there is shit
in the bathtub
no-one
acknowledges it
we stare at
it
this is reality,
a memory,
not my
dream
this is autobiography,
which is fantastic,
which is immense?
my friend
invites me
into her home
lined with
books to the ceiling
through the
backdoor
her father is
sceptical
do I belong
here?
possibly not
I am
annoyed by Freud,
he got something
big and then he didn’t
give me
Jung, any day
Cixious,
Grosz, Kirby
I have my
own unconscious
conscious
Oh, I love this, Sarah. I'll give you a reference :)
ReplyDeleteThank you Efi! You can have a room in the palace. We can hang out. Hey everyone can come! This was inspired by Kit's last poem, which I think may have been dream inspired, and by my recurring dreams of looking for somewhere to live, being shown these fantastical palatial places. They are really enjoyable dreams but bemusing, rich with details and colour.
ReplyDeleteyes, a lovely idea, a rich seam!
ReplyDelete