In the deep past we mislaid ourselves
and feared, adored these places of the lost.
the valleys shaped from many youths,
forests I summoned while wishing you, making twigs
into wands for spells to scatter the beasts,
collecting moss for the beds of passion.
we wandered, asking greater aid,
found nothing yet your hands in my hair
seemed most joyous, miracles even.
why this still seems such marveling imagining us
draped on moss, you touching a leaf to my lip,
another memory of our lost everything.
Fuck the prophets.
This earth seeming too much,
They hobble and sing.
As for those hoping to enlist
Our shelter's quiet heresy,
Let the wait stain their red robes.
Still, you and I have come too far from gentleness
To rave reputably of birds.
What nest we've helped build, let fall from the highest rafters.
Tonight we sound the bell.
To mix poisons. To trade apples for
No. Pour water. Wrap the baby in
The blurred remember. Forgery hoping
Ink red dawns. A tower leapt from.
The fall without wings. The siege of
Patrons of destiny, in this dream
only a traitor can save the kingdom.
Joseph taught us dreaming is not enough.
One must speak the dream, and damn, that shit's tough.
One must consult the King and not get killed,
One must love the Queen, and it must not seem willed.
And one's brothers, yes, them, you must forgive.
Though they wish you dead, you must wish them live.
And your sorrow must overflow the well
And water the wheat in the fields of Hell.
For Joseph showed dreams alone will not do
What a dream in the world can wake through you.
He overturned tables
For no apparent reason.
Why do you do that? they'd ask.
You don't want to know, he'd say.
He rolled the Sphinx on its head
Which made the Egyptians very angry.
He tipped idols onto sheet paper
To breed with mongrels
Which made people throw things.
Then he flipped over a large stone
Hurled it through a cloud
And made himself some tea.
All the roses in all the gardens
In all the books you’ve never read,
Written by the poets, who,
Thankfully are dead,
Now flourish in my head.
The wisdom of these roses!
Content to grow and die,
Which pricked the lovers loving
Their centuries sliding by.
It won’t take so very long
To press their petals’ poses
In my lexicon of song.
Here, touch the pretty roses,
Just don’t linger long.
Here is a bed and here is a room
And here are the things that happen to you…
Here is the fly on the window ledge
Near the web formed too quickly and too soon,
And out this window and across this street
Lives the man that will stab your father,
Smiling and dancing with a beautiful woman.
And next door playing on the lawn
Are boys who will grow up to be liars
That polish dimes with your wives' favorite dresses.
And this is the wood
Your mother wants the coffin made of,
And here, again, but for the last time,
Appears the enchanted child,
Stepping out of a bleak hallway
Into the living room.
She cups her hands into your cold world
And brings up a spider that speaks to you:
It's coming, it's coming,
What will you do?
I went to Heaven
And couldn’t stand it.
I found a girl
Gliding gleeful in the golden fields.
She was cute and
Was using her halo
As a frisbee
To play with the
While she rested
I crept up and
Strangled her with the halo
Till her heaven breath went
Carrying her angel corpse
I marched to God
He looked at her
Then at me
With his beard
His contrived spectacles
Why not? I whimpered
Dropping the cadaver in a cloud.
And kissed me
On the cheek.
Nathan Woods, editor/overlord