A Dream Before Dawn ~ Bob Kesh
A magpie pecks thoughts from my mind,
nourishing him like mouthfuls of snow.
I see my grandfather’s old rake,
all the red rust mixing into the brown,
I take it and walk into the field,
flecks falling on my shoulder
and under my feet.
I recognise the trees from Van Gogh’s paintings,
and a pigeon with a peacock’s tail
balances against the wind.
As I approach the scarecrow I realise
it’s a young woman,
not straw by her head
but blonde curls,
‘Go’ she tells me,
‘But I must work the land.’
‘Go’ she says,
‘The clouds have reshaped the horizon,
a reminder that limits are
only as far as you make them.’
She kissed my voice and sent me toward the sun.
and then outside again,
as if I’d come out another side,
the moon’s high,
everyone staring at the sky,
someone nudges a tree
and the stars fall
like sparks from a fire,
and an old friend listens to my bones.
I still walk,
though it’s easier now,
and as the fires form roofs,
I’m in a burlesque club,
‘TITS!’ I shout out loud,
no one seems to mind,
the dancer is happy,
her face is one large round tit.
Then out on the stretch
between Leicester Square and Piccadilly Circus,
what happened to the Van Gogh trees?
the people walk quickly
all of them ageless, sexless, sightless,
and I’m just an audience now,
watching an unstable machine
artists and musicians uncontroling of their bodies,
stacking boxes in department stores,
downing drink after drink,
here I haven’t had a drink in twenty-five years,
I feel healthy,
and i recognise it
not as home
but life to lease,
‘When The Man Comes Around’ is playing from somewhere,
I feel like I might be waking up.
Contact him at bobkesh @ hotmail . co .uk (with no spaces)