Aught, no. 13 (2004)

Sandra Simonds

dream one

—one eye

opens, the other wanders down a warm hallway

or bright ribcage.

                             last night an elk, a wild pig, an ambulance

          and a long lost friend.


     that to which all things vanish,



I will give you a loaf of rough bread

and a long fish.



dream two

                 bad news, bad luck,         click/ click   a long walk down

the spiral

stairs of the fire escape


                           if smoke enters these rose trees (from all


I, the inhalation

I, the hot twig


                call me Trustee, the one who will take care of everything

8 hours and coffee spills (on the paperwork)


I hold a (fossil

fish) paperweight (in my left       hand) as you enter the building carrying


a leather briefcase and an odd grin that

slides off your profile



dream three

for your insomnia, a dose (of thighs and/or ass)


                                            the walls are headaches and your spine

is bent into the only window

for miles you

                    reach into the bricks of the body and find (a

trapped leopard)


      its black spots twitching



                             —to pace around the ruby stomach<

for your sleep—


        a mouthful of acid

and orange stars



dream four

 landscape of

wild berries and carnivorous boulders,                       delight in all that is not


                               the sound of a bear thrashing the brush



happy (to make love) in the rain          in the altitude


in the sharpest corners

     of the world

                  happy to say that I am (unwell) and I will reach into your pocketful

of tools and anathemas:

           aspirin, tongue depressor, stethoscope and gauze


I will gather all this thin air on my bruised fingertips


                                                                            if you say so

Copyright 2004, by the author. All rights reserved.
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