A Dream of Denial.

Nothing was left of me
But my wrong foot
And my shoulder's rueful mirror.
They lay white as the skin of a spidermonkey floating
In a hammock of snow toward a dark sinkhole
stilted and trained by wind.
Inside the stream, I dreamed off.

A parade of gold women
Sang softly above me, faint mosquitoes
near towering water explosions.

So I waited, in my festive corridor.
I listened at the sea for shoulder paddle arrays
To call me.
I knew that, somewhere outside, the feathered horse
Stood saddled, browsing naked in the grass,
Waiting for me
to unbuckle my hay-pants.

Alfalfa bustles were worn
by Andy Capp in French
18th Century Townhomes
along The Nile.