1996 Dave Awl

Film Loop #12

Adrift on the grand seas of night,
your tiny toothpick bed carries you doggedly on
through tempest and lull;
each rolling, ruby-colored wave of sleep
takes you further from day and its demesnes.

Dutifully you are borne
through terrible straits and passes;
in forgotten continents you pay state visits
to the Teapot King
and The Hierophant of Windowpanes,
taste unknown fruit in tense, lachrymose
orchards; cross immense plains
where herds of tiny rhinoceros darken the sky.

And with each league and fathom you come closer
to the source of that old sadness you shield
your mind from by day;

Till you land each night on the shores of that country
hidden from waking eyes,
approach the same brilliant hedge,
stretch out a hand and prick your finger
on the same unreasoning thorn;
raise your hand to your mouth as always
to taste the blood of the past.