Dream while sick 5 pm on a Saturday
Athena Nilssen

If I would have kept the pennies from the queen in 1793
how great it would be
If I would have let them sit
past the burlap tearing of Victory Bread
sans culottes sans birch trees
and the Andalusian gypsy swinging
from tenderloin doorframes
In red sockhat, I mocked her
and wanted
two of everything:
la canaterla, la gamuza,
la capa tuberosa
Two of each please
who cares about tomorrow ?
She wrapped them in paper
so they would keep
for the walk home at least.
my cricket connections
how small, how inconsistent
this world built upon itself
blue staircases great overlappings
of the Boulevard. All I see are the familiarities
are they there palimpset upon Bank of America?
the monster Bosch orgy
down Pico Boulevard? I can’t see!
oh fountains
of pureness, the God in the Trees
the end of the line
the Cities the gray infrastructures I run
in my dreams the Interzones the red and the concrete
the buildings as my cat sleeps beneath me
I am grateful and sick
my teeth and eyes ache in their hot groundings
steady Flower I am fear
I am a year indescribable
soon forgotten
lead me unto You

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