Jan/Feb 2003 • Poetry • Special Feature |
Flipdihethemum
You are with me down by the river
and walking around the factory
late, for a warm fall day
I know I am dreaming butit's not the dream where I flip
in and out of bizarre circumstances
(Phillip has a knife collection,
four books allowed for code detection)
It's another kind of dream, andmaybe a kind of heritage of offset people
Factory workers who own tiny brass hammers
To tap the gauges for a true readinglike sad job-seekers who busy themselves
planting chrysanthemums around the garden
to keep out the rabbitsLike a dial that shows the pressure,
the direction, the speed and the warmthThis dream is simple, a monolith to the
certainty that you are by my shoulder, not
having to glance at you, even surreptitiouslybecause I know something, especially while dreaming
A small, perfectly brilliant thing like arc welding
A sure dream, because you can't look at it directly
as it fills the room with light