Surrelaist image of a man in shadows infront of a colorful window based on a still shot from a home movie

Strange Dream #3

White blood cells die in a viral massacre.

I act as referee and check my sed rate.

An old man plays the piano, another me:
someone smelled but not seen.

“How long have you been like this?” I ask,
ever the concerned professional.

“Since I was an old woman,” I reply.

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94117–

I fire off an email and do a dozen sit-ups.

I am a god and know I am.

Every hair on my leg is cosmic, just as Walt Whitman says it is.

“I’ve never had sex with a feminist,” says Whitman, “Who’s the
top and who’s the bottom?”

“Let’s do it sideways,” I reply. “That way we’re equal.”

 

Image and poem (c) Rob Goldstein 2015-January 2017

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31 thoughts on “Strange Dream #3

  1. I hadn’t noticed the first time around how much sense this non-sense makes and it is another sore funny bone for me. ” The hair on my legs is perfect, just as Walt Whitman says it is. I invite the pianist to rub his face across the stubble.” Well now we know what Walt Whitman’s taste in female hairdoos is or shall we call the both of you deluded and the pianist in need of comfort – but then he did get some albeit an unknown number in the Karma Sutra.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. This is another piece that I’d forgotten I posted, but unlike Strange Dream #14 I remember it.

      This was an exercise in the use of word collage. It is basically a stream of consciousness poem that I wrote while pulling words and phrases out of a bag.

      The opening line is a reference to the AIDS epidemic and as with so much of the writing that I did in my thirties there are references to the DID that even I didn’t get until I was diagnosed in 2012.

      Thank you for reading it and asking me about it because I rarely stop to think about a piece after its posted.

      Like

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