Some new tracks in the sand by Potter’s Mount,
Four toes, then five, then six, then back to four,
Each alternating step, a different count,
They end under the lifeguards’ boat – no more.
I turn to scan the shore; I am alone,
But curious – my hidden quarry begs.
I overturn the boat. There, lying prone,
No human thing – a ball of twenty legs.
It scurries quickly past me to the dunes.
Then diving from the sky a demon bird,
Which plucks it, flies with it across the moon,
Those whirring legs – the loudest scream I’ve heard.
I contemplate this natural mystery
Under the boat – lest more foul birds seek me.
from The Surreal Sonnets Series…
- The Dreaming Chest
- Icelus Calling
- Cracks in the Walls
Posted by Tom Busillo on December 9, 2012
Our windows open to a wall of brick
With windows of its own deep in its grooves.
We see a pulsing motion, we are sick,
For waving from each window, thirteen hooves!
What demons live inside these walls, behind
Each brick, a horror lurking in each rut,
A silent teeming madness or our mind,
And so the window we begin to shut,
But something grabs our eye and we look back,
And what we see – we shudder, legs grow weak –
Each hoof is now a hairy plumber’s crack.
In unison they all begin to speak,
“You can awake, the fog of dreams will clear,
but in a nagging way, we’ll still be here.”
Posted by Tom Busillo on December 7, 2012
We dream a dream ensconced inside a chest
That we’re a flying dog named “Tiffany”.
We fly beside a jet plane heading West,
A blinking light is all that we can see.
Then suddenly the skies explode in light,
A thousand blinking stars that are not planes,
A fireworks of heaven’s glorious might,
A light-encrusted bone’s all that remains.
It hovers there, it speaks with our own voice.
“Why do you chase this light in skies on high?
Yes, you’re a dog, but know you have a choice.
Now I become the bone in your left thigh!”
And with a “YELP!”, the bone it takes its place.
and as we wake a grimace on our face.
FWIW, the first sonnet in the series is here:
The Dreaming Chest
If you don’t have time to read it, basically, “The Dreaming Chest” establishes the narrator of the above sonnet – and potentially subsequent sonnets – as being in a dream that he is underwater, asleep inside a treasure chest and dreaming.
It all makes perfect sense now, doesn’t it?
Posted by Tom Busillo on November 29, 2012
Gently in sleep we search the seas of dreams,
Traipsing upon submerged mountain peaks,
Our fastest steps slow-motion so it seems.
Does reason know our heart – of what it seeks?
So sweet’s the air we breathe in, not a brine,
But scent of sweetest flowers in our breast.
We see down in a valley a bright shine
And fly to it. We find a golden chest
With rubies, emeralds, jewels and coins of gold,
Its treasures overflowing from its lip.
We scoop out every thing that it does hold,
Into its empty walls ourselves we slip,
And close the lid, bring darkness to our face,
For we have found our ideal dreaming place.
Posted by Tom Busillo on November 28, 2012
smiling, shuffling, milkshake-drinking
not an animated vagina
Posted by Tom Busillo on August 20, 2010
Blood in the corners
from my weakened gums
framing this day’s
things to accomplish.
From my weakened gums
comes out a list of promises,
things to accomplish
under the hundred degree heat.
Out comes the list of promises
as tasks are done
wilting under the heat until
almost before nightfall.
Tasks to be done are done,
checked off in order
before I almost fall after nightfall,
Check off in order
the latest symptoms -
The latest symptoms -
sweat and sickness,
timing my heartbeats.
Sweat and sickness,
counting down to sleep’s cure,
timing my heartbeats
back to normal.
Counting down to sleep’s cure.
Index card flossing,
back to normal,
a blank memory.
Index card flossing leaves
blood in the corners
a blank memory
framing the day.
Posted by Tom Busillo on July 5, 2010