Room 146

July 23, 2016

Finally, a room.
A room I recognize.
(A room, I reckon…)
Una cameretta.
La mia cameretta.
Father sudden entrance: implausible. Globe in hand: impossibile.
The dream, again. Azure curtains, resisting a morning light of pure memory.]
‘‘To gold, straw,’’
says dad,
‘‘asses would favour.’’
I look at the bees,
straw Chicco bees,
circling about;
to them fat
I raise a hand.
much digs
lil’ finds,’’
dad sez.
a neon light in the front wall
‘‘What lights’d you love for your room,’’
mother, at relocation.
‘‘Rotating, red, yellow, kaleidoscopic…’’
‘‘Where did you even get such an idea?’’ In the end
a chandelier the shape of a handkerchief;
dad trying to convince me it was still cool enough.
Dad, now, echoing the neon, a duet:
‘‘FIRE! ’’
‘‘OF GOLD!’’

He who lays in slumber
operates & collaborates
to what
in the cosmos

2 Responses to “Room 146”

  1. MumblingNerd Says:

    “Such rooms as dreams are made on.” William Tweetspeare

  2. […] 143, 144, 145 & 146 […]

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