After several vegetarian meals I stopped dreaming.
A part of me searched city dumpsters,
another aspect sat on a high roof
and could only be seen by gusty wraiths.
I walked and talked, but my animal self
had lost the power to swim in the rain.
I longed to be able to dream again.
After the Irish pork sausage
I bought at a country fair
(I conveyed it gently home in silver wrappings.
Fried it slowly in its own greasy tears
and consumed it on the back of a snuffling fork),
I had a new dream.
That night I roamed the heavens.
Black robed trees grunted as they rooted
for a suckling starlight.
My viand thickened with all sorts of drippings.
A suet of soul. A fat goose of being
flew through moist visions.
I had quite forgotten the dry and meatless.
Sometime near to the dewy breath of dawn
I awoke with words in my wet mouth.
~~
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Rita Bourland
heidibeth
Dr. Spudman44
hilarad
Brazen Princess
M. C. S.
Salon.com
Comments
I love "Fried it slowly in its own greasy tears".