coming together
As the week’s work pressure
wears me down
I dream of Pachelbel’s Canon,
the music playing as
a blind severed head sits
in a pool of blood on the floor.
It is alert enough
to listen to a sermon.
The talking bodyless head
speaks of the smell of perfume
wafting through the room
as strangers circle around it,
myself among them.
A few days later
I am imagining
the smell of the Earth
in that moment
when summer shower raindrops
mingle and dance
with the dust.
The smell of the nearby sea
wafts through the air
and a sense of Zen
washes through me,
cleans the dirt away.
I am content again.
Grateful that the sinister
group coming together in
that nightmare of days past
are not reaching Wagner
crescendos in an evolving plot
devoid of epic Valkyrie flights.
Just a bad dream.
__________________________
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