Strange Dream #09

I am born in the slums of a jungle;

It is hot and I am always thirsty.

I drink water from the fountain

marked Colored.

It has magic that quenches

my thirst.

My neighbors say

the fountain is

diseased

But that was before–

then became now.

At 3 AM savage

sophisticates

jabber and howl.

“Who do you love most,” asks God.

“Jayne Mansfield,” says Max.

“And why is that?” God is cleverly
all-knowing.

“She’s dead.” Max replies.


(c) Rob Goldstein 2015-2016 All Rights Reserved

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…of wisteria and the scent of honeysuckle

Her  death leaves
us with

hidden memories

of captured fireflies,

of wisteria and

the scent of

honeysuckle,

of taffy pulls
and
pink flamingos,

of Christmas and

the Wizard of Oz,

of swallowed

shame

and conflicting

secrets.

Image and text Rob Goldstein (c) 2017

A Mustard Seed

This me, not

me, this

spooky

action

from a

distance:

the games
begin

in
Eden,

where

particles

glittered

until

dim-bulb

fantasies

snuffed

them out.

These

undulating

hips and ribs;

those hot

hands on

our

dead flesh:

we are

ignorance

and bliss.

Words and image (c) Rob Goldstein 2017 All Rights Reserved

The Ripple Effect

A million scary bugs hide in the cracks of these walls.

They wait in the dark and when they think that I’m asleep

they drop into bed.

The scariest bugs are mosquito hawks; they have wings as
sharp as knives.

I pull the blanket over his my head and dream about angels.

They are naked and very pretty

Their nakedness makes me tingle

Dad says the angels tingle like that too.

Suddenly a spider as big as a hand lands on my bed!

But Dad says hush now and think about heaven.

Image and text Rob Goldstein (c) 2017 all rights reserved

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