Neopoet.com

Upon the crutches of sleep,
I stand unsteadily.  I see
the horse and rider melding
with trees and leaves,
being spliced like film strips.

My grandfather and his
pocket watch are melting,
as are the memories I
have, stored away behind
an itching nose. 

I have an egg in my hand,
and it splatters yellow
paint and cream.  I am an
insect, struggling to be
punctual and to be the provider.

I am the combination of object
and subject, of dream and awake,
of past and future, of
communication and it’s void.

I am not a contradiction. 

I am an upside-down elephant,
floating atop my reflection.  I am
a burning giraffe, and the keeper
of giant combs and green glasses.

I am a hooded lover, and I’ve seen
Christ suspended in arguing
dimensions.  In my bedroom,
I have a shattered window with
painted shards. 

There are a multitude of men
falling from the sky.

I am a mass of illusion, but a
force of reality.  I am the
watcher of  fish-head
mermaids, the cruel inversion.

I am the metamorphosis.