Images
Images, Whirling around my consciousness
in a merry-go-round of blurred
faces and voices, except there
is nothing merry about it. I
fear to move forward over the voices of those who died
before me and I do not long to
join the mass of the rankless.
It is a wedding of fantasy and fear-filled reality but the
veil of the bride covers the
filth with gossamer lace,
sugar and spice, hmph, not my
cup of tea. This is a most
unholy place, my own cathedral
of pain. I have been lapse in
my attendance, and the right-
filled fury of the, (priest?)
makes me shake in uncertainty.
I want to wake, but I am not
sleeping. Just another state.
(Maine, perhaps?) the place
recedes then condenses around
me. I sneeze, but cannot
loosen the congestion. It is a
room whose every surface is
polished silver, reflecting
again an again and once more,
me the occupant. I would fall
to the floor, but I’m not sure
which way is up. I want to go
elsewhere, to trip into
another memory. Catch me, I’m
falling.
©1991
Psychoterrierpy 