half lucid remembrance of tornadodreaming pulling me down
into the basement of a childhood crisis averted, lock the doors, it's
all coming
down
sirens screaming a wake-up call run for cover into the ground
safe and sound, is it all adverse circumstances? averted?
is the greyness of an impartial blooming, an in-between mixing
of red and green singing colliding notes cancelling amplitude
roughness of sunburnt skin, too tight to fit into?

where am i? whose face am i wearing? i stare into the
blankness of imperfect memory, trying to remember
how to recall, how to rejoice in the radiant center ray,
the number five... i am?

in my dreams i am The Wind, i flow into foreign passes
of howling winds, spirit ripping through, while
the moon collides with it's mitotic twin, tearing open
and falling inwards again, i step on labradorite
shelf mushrooms, blue purple dancing to the
remembrance of the other reality i could be

living in.