Archive
02/27/09
Tarpit Territory
In your deep-seated Negro-gospel/blues dreams (Those which crossed the finish line, at least, Just before your 5:40 a.m. alarm could come to your rescue),
You found yourself in uncharted primordial tarpit territory, Floundering amidst the near-intact skeletal remains Of prehistoric raptors, saurian behemoths —
Creatures ineffably grotesque, in their unfleshed potential, Wallowing in a murky, gelatinous petrochemical stew, Bumping up against your minuscule, sweaty, naked body,
Even as you, a porphyric, eyeless, three-legged frog, swam, Croaking the strangest Southern spiritual, Hoping to entice Jesus Christ into saving you from your dreams,
Resurrecting your floating spirit from its abysmal baptism, Keeping you from being stranded in those oozing, jet-black pits, Where death stirs its whirlpooling waste, with a rusty scythe.
When you finally slipped from your shadow-weave sheets, Your lips had been stitched shut, By a needle-tongue hidden, forever, in your constricted throat.
Shreds of the thread it used lay on the blood-soaked rug. When your emaciated fingers gathered them up, You could see they were still wriggling, as if vermicular.
Only, on sensing your terrified stare, they shriveled, disappeared, Leaving you confused, dumbstruck — A tar baby stuck to the edge of your briar-patch bed.
02/27/09
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