bedpostscripture

 

moqui stoned in

the sleep temple

of an olive eden

on a pop quiz

planet along a

white wolf road.

 

perched in

padmasana as

an ancient exile

in a knoll at the

foot of a gnarltree,

the crypto-opera

of fleeting stops

between stations

broke my silence.

 

a familiar electric

murmur diffused

into the air,

a shook snow

globe of matter,

the pop and hiss

herald of the shift.

 

again in the dirt

recliner of the

southwestern

corner beamed a

queer tree stump

horned halfling

one-eyed ally

with lime rind skin.

 

we shared an

unstruck smile

then communion

with command.

 

we both eyed a

silence at the

bedroom door.

 

i’ve a gift for you,

he said. the stump

on his head began

to rumble, the

sinewed pink

elephant trunk

branched at a

foot tall into

the lush emerald

crown afro of a

miniature old

world ash.

he dug a hand

into the foliage

and emerged

with a sweater.

i knitted it after

you spun the

cosmic yarn

from the future

of our first

encounter,

he continued.

 

i took the garment

into my hands, a

vision of morpheus

mounted nemo’s

walking bed rearing

in the moonlight

embroidered across

the chest. i put it on.

i thanked him, said

it was good to see

him again.

 

he dismissed my

pleasantries with

a subtle raise of

his brow. and what

of your night trips?

he asked.

 

the cherry black

canvas is a canyon,

there is depth to the

void. the third eye of

dreaming, three feet

before me, a door to

the other.

 

apparently pleased

with my answer, he

passed his hand

between us trailed

by a scrying cloud

of ancient reverie.

 

you’ve favored

audience with

another ally to

usher your

passage further

into the esoteric

art of the tin foil

astronaut, he said.

 

we marveled one

of my many deaths

in the celestial ink

mist monitor.

 

we smiled with

our hearts,

we spoke with

our minds.

 

we both eyed a

knock at the

bedroom door.