Bruegelville
there’s a blue, red-trimmed chancery cursive
neon sign high above the curtain. the sign’s perfect;
a perfectly glowing neon sign which would look good
hanging behind the bar in any downstairs rumpus room,
not one intermittently flawed, buzzing letter,
the first clue that this was going be a bad dream.
the curtain opens to turmoil.
dense, frantic crowds fill the arena, and
protruding from the water, a fish-head swallows
what appears to be the mechanical leg of a whole man!
below, there's something I can’t make out, which
seems to be pole fishing into what could be interpreted as
the iris of an eye, but a clay vessel will do, filled with horrified
folks looking a lot worse-off than any of the fish I'm accustomed to,
and toward the upper left of the arena there’s an ornament of sorts
stuffed with tortured, naked figures hanging from an inverted cone
bending by the weight of it, and this mesmerizing unpleasantness
sits atop a huge goo-goo eyed head regurgitating human and animal life!
the dream’s soundless, but I’m sure there’s screaming.
a central figure is seen running, stage left,––
that’s my stage left as opposed to her stage right,
who has sacked what appears to be kitchenware, which
could be classified as: "her own", "looting", or "the spoils of war".
most disturbingly, near dead center, a bare-ass woman,
bends at the waist, carrying a boat upon her back––
she's grasping the portside top rail with her left hand
and in her right, a worrisome type of constipation tool.
the boat's a sort of smack, keeless, a small troop carrier, four combatants
on board, and all four tucked inside a bubble sitting amidships,–– and she's pooping
with the aid of the intrusive constipation tool, dark, defensive waist-matter upon
the townsfolk below, who are storming the gates of the stone fortress! meanwhile,
toward the right of the arena, we find a 16th century colander (no holes, yet) of armed
soldiers, who appear to be fending off "we the people" under a flaming sky, then
upward, still, the burning's complete with frightening Whoville-type creatures,
and one of them is doing handstands upon the skeletal remains of the fortress!
man,.. I had to laugh at the sight of that.–– I’m at the edge of reason, but
I awaken to 21st century aroma therapy and the scent of pancakes.