I work at a dry cleaner, so I don't think my work resembles that of carpentry or locksmithing whatsoever. Nonetheless, I had THE DREAM.
This is what you get for taking blurry photos of the Wolf Moon, stuff yourself with extra spicy Szechuan fried chicken, and go to bed early.
So I present to you a terrible surrealist poem that I've written about / was dictated to me in the Secret Histories inspired dream I had last night:
Knock is the question. The Three Ladies are each an answer.
One is the Moon, One is a Serpent. And the Oldest of the Three is of both natures.
I am out of joint and have been stirred up, made to be a Name of The Moon. I must divide The Two Who Are One and unite that which is Divided.
And rain. Everywhere there is rain as I sit in the doorway.
The Beachcomber guides the way, and as the crow rests in my hands it becomes both the cross and the key. Now it is I that becomes the secret keeper, the voyeur.
With it I travel through places that are made from my memories. But my memories they are no longer.
Places in my hometown that I know are not real. Places that I have never been.
I break through brick walls and move backwards in alleyways. I fly not through the air but through the solids of wood and concrete.
There is a sauna where The Forge and The Grail meet. Bodies are made glowing gold and gleaming bronze by wet fire and the molten impacts of people's copulations.
There is a warehouse whose windows are shattered and whose doors are long missing. Now it is a church for a God of commerce and production who never came.
It is night time as I run through something that was made from bits of my city's college campus. There is snow in the air but no clouds in the sky, only stars and the jeweled eyes of insects.
I fight monsters that resemble the ones from children's games but I know that they are not. For when she is inside The Moon, the Mother births more than just snakes and ants.
I meet a pair of women, I do not know if they are sisters or lovers. The bolder of the Two steals something precious from me, I try to bribe her but she does not return what she stole.
Then I remember that I am the dreamer and she is the dream. Thus I rip out each one of her veins, with my beak, or perhaps with my fangs and jaws.
Now I am that Sister and I stand in an opera box that resembles a cell padded with black leather and latex. The show I watch does not reveal the performer's gender, even though they dance completely naked.
I converse with a babe in a restaurant that does not exist but I remember it. We talk of salads and I know this is a test from the Goddess of Childbirth.
I sit naked in a chair on my front lawn as I watch my family try and save cats and dogs from drowning. There is so much rain and I cannot move.
I understand that there is a third time that is neither day nor night with neither sun nor stars to rule it. Only clouds, and rain, and the Moon that is both with me and within me.
And then I wake up.........
