Aught No. 13 (2004) - Simonds, Four poems

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,

converge—

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

directions)

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

sunshine

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