The night before I left I
entered an elevator.
Flying upwards into space or
pitching downwards, it’s all the same
Midway each dream the doors open:
Suddenly the decision must be made: do I get out? Step freely
Or remain, blind to the rushing air
the elevator / my protector
I know, right.
The subconscious is sophomoric
in its metaphor.
Before I left you I thought it was impossible.
that if you slept through some fatal, nonexistent accident
you’d simply never awaken —
Just die like that,
Always wake up before you land. Always.
Each night, my life ends in elevators
The body contracting
goring some regal floor / ceiling
(depending on direction of force)
Lungs jammed between lips, liver lapping spleen, everything thick, wet
tonguey and lolling, skin bursting
a fractal of fractures, my
china plate ribs
And I wake up calmly, without a start, I am splayed like a starfish in our old sheets
heart all exposed.
It is a dark wood, simply engraved
the buttons crackling white
And I press 8, because 8 was where I wanted to go but as soon as the doors chime shut,
I have a sinking feeling about the whole thing, and
sure enough we begin plummeting
down deep into the earth
the elevator and I
there is no earth left at all:
everything shredded around the edges, obliterated
Ladies and gentlemen we are approaching maximum height, in fact we are
now entering the thermosphere,
now entering the exosphere, oh heavens
completely outtasphere, ha ha
darkness, and infinity
my elevator and I.
The other night I didn’t dream about anything.
The other night I was sleeping under the Milky Way
This was Rockport, Maine:
Insects rubbed their arthritic legs
in the tall fading grass
And across the way, a giant wooly dog slowly kicked a curved paw behind his giant wooly ear,
his faded collar swinging,
sweetly into the night
Somewhere, in all of this space
I lay sleeping
A satellite soared