Black dogs market teeth escape shoes

I was cleaning out a desk and I had a sneaking suspicion it had old food. I lifted a layer of papers and there was old bologna slices of pepperoni and rancid white shredded cheese. It stank. I cleaned it all away. Yuck!  I came around to the desk and there was a woman offering me her husband’s teeth. She was striding somewhere on the second level so I met someone familiar but not quite sure it was Michel. He seems to fit the essence of the person though. He offered me the teeth explaining how they could file the ridges down. They looked too big for my mouth. I took them, and as I walked away I wondered how I would get from where I was to the appointment in Philadelphia on the 11th. There was somewhere south I had to go too. I thought momentarily of the time I used to drive up and down the eastern seaboard in my $50 dollar car. Then I would drive six hours alone, or thirteen, on a whim.  But now this would be difficult.

I took the teeth.

I was at the table with the scientists when I asked a question that they were egotistically proud they had studied but not concerned with disseminating it, or discussing it. It was a pretty woman who had studied ethnopaleobotany I think. I didn’t get any information from her. I was down in the cement ally ways with the kids and the animals. A gorilla plucked a child who was being hurt up over the gate like a bag of trash. He wanted to speak to a man. I went down further into the ally. Black dogs barked all around me. I tried to reason with them, talking to them. I knew I had to get out of there.

Up in an office there was a travolta president. There was a handsome man in a suit who wanted to see me. There was an elevator you could press worn buttons on. They were pearlized and not lit up. I read CHILE and VIETNAM and I picked Chile not really expecting to be there when I pressed the button. Still everyone walking down the corridor was speaking Spanish. I turned around to go back to the elevator.

My escape from the black dogs I was running to a brown box and turning a right hand key and a latch opened and I drove away.

At the edge of the city Daniel Grafton was there and he gave me a long hug. It was sunrise.”Welcome to Baltimore,” I said. I parked in the middle of the road. But then I moved the car flush against a building and was unpacking. A hand reached through the gap between the building and the car for my bag. I couldn’t go back, I was cut off from the road, from the moment just before. Victoria Burkhardt was there. I asked if I could keep her black shoes. Sexy, Slinky Style she said or some other Es alteration. They were four inch heels with gold circles going up the side. I would never wear something like that.

A hand was rubbing mine softly…it was Joseph waking me up.

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a poetry jukebox and I’m psychic

Journeying the child is with me. There are preparations to make. Another scene.I go to a gym behind my house through green gates, taking a bicycle with me past the lifting railroad bar, with assurance of special access. Up the cheap carpeted steps are machines for learning how to deal with flying mach 5 speed planes. There are old institutionalized warmonger types in there laughing. It seems less athletic and more like an old boys club. I go down the stairs. There are a few comfortable stuffed eclectic cafe-furniture chairs centered on a plastic vinyl- fronted computer with a screen the size and shape of a juke box. It is displaying the works of writers. I choose a female poet’s work to read. Its pleasurable to touch the screen. I begin to read it and a conversation interrupts me. A man was talking nearby about children. His wife appears with dark curled hair and big anxious eyes. I feel conscious of my wedding ring on my hand which rests on my propped up knee. Now I am in an art studio with pressed wood top tech-ed tables.  A woman unfolds brown paper with white charcoal sketches.  I commented on making the art from the insects perspective. I continued, explaining very clearly, “because I am psychic…”&~~

Out of the Recesses

Escaping from the world below.  I climbed high up into the pipes and heating vents painted white. I kept rising in the works while thinking I might be letting dust fall. I was worried about being caught but determined.  I starting to pull the wall apart slowly. Cigar boxes emerged from the wall. I thought they might be valuable but not as important as escaping. When a hole had been made, I could tell it was into a bedroom.  I saw the gloss of a floor and heard a soft snore.  Boldly, I went, through rooms at dawn, so that only the grey shadowy gloss and clean palatial  features of some well appointed manor were apparent. I went down a pair of balustraded stairs. The decisions I made were snap decisions. I found myself outside. I saw water and I dove in. I moved down and out a water causeway until I was beyond the grounds of the place I had been captive.  The water was dotted with people and I could see structures and horizon ahead.

&~~

 

on the ropes

I am on a large sailboat floating on a turbulent sea that is covered with green algae. A woman is with me on the boat, but I don’t know who she is. The boat is anchored, but I can tell that it only serves to keep it from moving too much, and the anchor is dragging on the bottom of the ocean floor as we are pushed around. We are surrounded by massive rocks that look like miniature mountains, and the sky is a uniform orange. I found myself on this boat out-of-nowhere — I have no recollection of which shore it cast off. I climb a couple ropes that support the sail’s mast, and find myself dangling very high off the boats deck. I’m struck with a fear, and I don’t know how to get down without hurting myself. I do though. I find myself climbing these ropes from time to time for no apparent reason, and I’m always confused as to how I will get down. There is a cubby filled with change, and I keep checking to see if it’s still there, running my fingers over it; and I wonder if I will be able to keep it when we get to where we are going. If we are going anywhere. . . . ♨