Dreams from the past (ancient, cracking walls) writhe through my psyche (the child sobs in its sleep) bubbling thick in the mire of memory (animal hair…narrowed male eyes stare…and stare).
You’re not pretty enough to be expensive he says (but you’re pretty. that looks…good….on you). When the women notice how you look (nasty bitches) then you’re really Something (something you’re supposed to be?).
Organ notes float through waves of incense (if you catch their eyes they look away), grating, aching, throbbing, a hungry echo (the high notes sound desperate) of old, old sorrows bandaged under words of faith (the stone of the walls is thick and cold).
Like mist the floor dissolves (melts like plastic) when she thought it was firm. Reaching for the warm hand it claws her (her face, her beauty!). I’m sinking and I’m deformed.
what will remain (a warm, solid thing) when the dreams end?...
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