Kerouac dream #3
An umbilical cord between your mind and mine
purges the rot and the caffeine in me,
makes me again an infant, a suckling, as
the circle of life rears its wanton beauty
I see sense.
I smell nonsense.
I taste lies. They have several flavors.
They taste like rotten mangoes, or
ketchup and mayonnaise, and other tastes alien to me.
I hear thunder. It calls my name. It warns me.
I touch honesty. It invites me, then bites my hand.
R. Bremner writes of incense, peppermints, and the color of time. Recent books include Hungry Words (Alien Buddha Press), Absurd (Cajun Mutt Press), Ektomorphic (Press Press), and Pencil Sketches (Clare Songbirds Publications).