Late-Night Waking Thought-Dream Nightmares 38 through 12 | Teen Ink

Late-Night Waking Thought-Dream Nightmares 38 through 12

September 27, 2009
By ezrazimmerman GOLD, Menlo Park, California
ezrazimmerman GOLD, Menlo Park, California
12 articles 0 photos 1 comment

Favorite Quote:
"Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else's opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation."
-Oscar Wilde

The midnight sun looks down upon
The shadows of the breeze
And summer’s snow with its blinding glow
Weighs down the nevergreen trees
And I can’t see or feel my feet
Though I know that they’re just fine
As I gaze out abroad to Mars or God
The stars high above me shine
I wait for the next break of day
Which feels so far away

The black widow, she knows I know
She poisons all her mates
When sweet words are wrung from her stinging tongue
But I have no other dates
She spins her web around my bed
And bites me til I bleed
I would squash her but I watch her
Cuz her poison’s what I need
To put me out til break of day
Which feels so far away

Nightingales yak into the black
And echo in my room
Wolves and owls yelp and howl
At the small town streetlight moon
The lampposts hum like marching drums
Offbeat and out of tune
But these headache sounds are turning down
And sweet melodies will come soon
And go again at break of day
Which feels so far away

Monet is in the alleyway
Sketching with pens run dull
He’s using charcoal tips of cigarette butts
To draw conclusions on his easel
Michelangelo’s folding butter sculptures
And origami carving
He lights the paper and spreads the models
To keep warm and from starving
Rimbaud just pawned his food and clothes
For each word he writes to glow
And for every letter to light the night
Like a half-smoked pack of Lucky Strikes
They’ll work until the break of day
Which feels so far away

Achilles is dressed in drag tonight
And window-shops for tap dance shoes
He’s feeling invincible as a rich man’s child
As his footsteps patter to others’ blues
He waltzed with a gal and rum
To the two-step beat of a trash can drum
And asked her how being mortal feels
She said “You tell me,” he tripped and fell
And broke both of his heels
But she’ll keep dancing til break of day
Which feels so far away

My music box ballerina talks
Too loud to hear her tune
I close her lid, but while she’s hid
Her babble still fills the room
She spins around in her plastic gown
To a broken record loop
Laughing aloud that she’s dancing
To a broken record loop
As she keeps moving on
Inevitably ending up where she’s from
In blindly paralyzed prancing
Which she’ll keep up til break of day
Which feels so far away

The song and dance Kabala prophet
Madonna holy-daughter
Goes off the deep end and around the bend
Though she can walk on water
She brought the word and the word was “What?”
But the word remained unheard
So her neon flashing palace temple
By her disciples was sacked and burned
And she’ll get crucified at break of day
Which feels so far away

The motorbiker’s wife looked like
An angel making toasts
But she drank to this and that
Til flooded and fat
Filled with spirit and killed with bliss
And turned into a ghost
She plugged her umbilical cord into a cable
Into a vacuum on a dinner table
When she married Mr. Clean
She threw away her Frisbee halo
And shed her angel wings
So when she tried to fly, she crashed and died
A rich white housewife martyr queen
Her funeral service is at break of day
Which feels so far away

The unicycle drunken clown
Pogo-sticks made up straight faced laced up into town
Juggling dignity and fun
Retrieves the bottled disease hidden up his sleeve
Cocks his locked and loaded water gun
Rocks and falters when he runs
Convulsing laughter after us
Singing of the roving three ring circus
And his cotton candy someone
Leases a frayed and rotten trapeze
Hooks it up and misses with ease
Looking for an audience of one
He’ll keep looking til break of day
Which feels so far away

Decomposing diamond skull hipsters
Whisper clenched-teeth promises of futures
To intoxicating silicon suture fairies
But their respective bosses in perspective cut their losses
Cement them to pawn shop rings and crosses
To show they’re all celibate or married
Still they stick wallets into waistbands
And hands on explore uncharted lands
To keep playing charades
And dance and drink the night away
To keep up the stumbling parades
Until the next new break of day
Which feels so far away

Tweedy bandits ransack abandoned tidbits
S*** fertilizer, piss crystal geyser
In our feng-shuied garden growing zen
Wielding white collar weapons of choice
Hypnotic used-car salesman voice
Narcotic child’s play toys
Legal pad permanent marker facts
And sticky note contracts
Carved by a tattoo ink fountain pen
As malpractice vets sidesaddle joyride kidnap our rabid pets
But let us keep their bark
And flannel vandals reap what we’ve sown
And repossess what we own
With poker face bluffs
Then snuff the candles
To leave us in the dark
Until the light of break of day
Which feels so far away

The siren whining sunglass wearing
Two wheeled leather cops
And the silver shining raincloud sputtering
Cowboys screech to stops
Dismount their polished chromium steeds
At a Chevron trough with gasoline feed
To gunfight over tickets, speed limits
And each one’s place and job
Til drainpipes and sewers overflow
With red coagulating globs
But the morgue stays closed til break of day
Which feels so far away

The traffic cop dangles loose from the metal braided noose
And turns from red to green
He and the other streetlight bulbs
Are the only stars that are seen
By babies naming new constellations
Til the lights flicker out and die
And wailing suckle at witches’ t**s
Their breast-milk and brandy lullaby
Which brings them utopian sleepless dreams
That keep the nightmares at bay
Until the next new break of day
Which feels not far enough away

Once the new day dawns my good gal comes
And says she dreamt of me
And flowers and geese and love and peace
Which I try my best to see
She asks what I remember of my slumber
And I want to tell her true
But after a while I force a smile
And say “I dreamt of you”
She’ll stay with me til fall of night
But til then, it’s all alright

The author's comments:
"If my thought-dreams could be seen, they'd probably put my head in a guillotine. But it's alright, Ma, it's life and life only."
-Bob Dylan

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This article has 1 comment.

eglantine GOLD said...
on Oct. 12 2009 at 9:13 pm
eglantine GOLD, Huntsville, Alabama
18 articles 0 photos 14 comments

Favorite Quote:
a robe. you know... a backwards snuggie.

this is really good. seriouslyl. keep writing!