Lucid American Dreams

It was thought to be a dream

Smoky eyed, everyone bent one way, trimmed by a haze

All the bodies distorted.

Beginnings and endings were forgotten about,

They didn't matter anymore because you couldn't find a crease between any of it.

Old shells and hollow bones echoed the thoughts of dusty windswept colored rioters

Cracked whips cracked and split on the arms and shoulders of the overseers

Seared eyelids heavy with the crest of the moon blinked twice to let everyone know they were still alive.

Seconds had past and the worlds already a mess with no mother to sweep it to the corner; it ran on a broken course, collided with a dream and splintered down the seam,

It cracked open, split in two.

A scene of a woman appears and she's alone, left crippled after ravaging, rape, twisted, she fought tooth, cock, and nail.

Old white men sit happy, gloated, bloated.

They've scraped the barrels and caught all the scraps that clung to the side with a hope of ever making it out alive or happy or at least with another to sit, sing, miserable at the sight of a blue eyed cross bearer, strung up, set up, and to be told that denial of death is now a sickness and a burden.

Caught it in this current, pulled to see the world the way the darker brush paints it, no rocket in sky, no sky in sight, no limit to a motion or an emotion.

He woke with a bang and a sweat.

A clock fell from the wall right as the tower struck twelve

It was erosion eroding, turning away the thoughts of better wisdom, a sonnet written on a kitchen wall, homely and pure, the sense that no burden is truth; no burden is there for the long haul. It burns a scar on the chest right down the center.

I keep all my sins in my left pocket, the other side I keep righteous.

This is balance on a string, turned ugly from a smoke thats drifted up, blurring vision and plugging ears so no one sees or hears the bastard call,

"Father, father why was I left on the doorstep of the apocalypse? Why is all the bread rotten and all the milk soured?"

"Why is my first step onto a rugged path plagued by rocks, shards of glass, broken beer bottles, used condoms, and the crinkled blue wrapper?"

"Why is a golden crucifix split here, the splinters strewn across the path and why is grandfather calling me to cross?"

"I know he's dead and can a spirit look so ashamed?"

"Why all this shit and grime on my path, where am I to step? Why all this rubbish and I no shoes?"

"Why is it a dollar and a dream? All I have is three quarters, a nickel, a dime, and a habit for insomnia."

One summer night a mother sat down on the side of her daughters bed and told her a story about the sun and the moon.

"The sun woke up, punctual as always, and rose to light the sky. He went up and lit the way for tired, dragging, sloppy, caffeine bent commuters who took to train, car, and foot to get to work, using every standard of travel ever pursued by man. The sun rose up until he sat right in the middle of the sky at noon to watch everyone who was eating lunch on patios and the sidewalks of cafes. The sun traveled on, going about his rounds. He began to fade from one hemisphere to the next. When the sun's back was turned, busy lighting Chinese motorists and their commute, the moon crept up and stole some of the sun's light. In the night sky the moon shone bright, he was full, boisterous, and in his prime. The people thought the moon looked so nice and they stood out on balconies and backyards and lay on the tops of car hoods and blankets in fields to look at the bright moon and talk of how pretty it was. The sun heard this and knew he was brighter then the moon could ever be. So the sun shone with all its might, it shone, and shone, and shone until all the hemispheres were lit and equatorial lines were washed away in the light of the sun. The whole world was lit. It was all too much though and the sun burnt itself out. Imploded with no more energy to spare. The moon laughed for a moment, thinking he would be the only star to shine so bright now. It wasn't until he realized he had no light of his own to give off. He was trapped in a darkness forever and couldn't  give off a a single ray without the help of the sun. The world sat in a darkness for a moment until someone turned on a lamp and they remembered electricity and progress. Then a brave soul stepped out and smashed a bulb, 'This light is a false idol. It makes a mockery of the sun and I can't stand to see its light!'"

The little girl fell asleep and murmured amongst he dreams, "We'll gut the bastards as well as ourselves before we let them steal the show."

Though I have no god to call my own I pray for those in Gaza. I pray for those in Israel. I pray for those in Baghdad and Afghanistan. I pray for those in Harlem and in Oakland. I pray for those who live in my own home and for those who live in my own heart.

I dream for them.

- KT (for Paul's dream within a dream)