is the moon blood red or did i cut myself again

hard to tell as i float down the stream on a lazily deflating inner tube

but the inner tube is out and i am in it

crystalline juxtaposition

i am inner it is outer and space is calling me with the voice of a thousand infant terrors

the black inside the black of space


intangible yet leaves a sticky film that coats my hand as it trails along through the water

the water is warm and refreshing but i feel like a frog in a pot of gradually boiling water

content to sit and turn the sickly purplish red of a beet

cold soup with a dollop of sour cream and finely chopped chives don’t jive with the upturned noses of my betters

standing proudly atop ivory balconies while gently strummed harps fill the docile woods around me

a small boy with pointed almost elvish ears casts a line into the water near me

an explosion of water as leviathan surfaces with a bellow of rage and pain

a simple silver hook through her bottom lip

a new age charlatan and an old school damnation preacher like a spiral cone of softer serve

topical ointments for tropical ailments

gossamer webs shimmer and sway in the breeze as thunderclouds begin to roll in with heavy intentions

somewhere ahead the screams of the estranged penetrate the silence

something bites at my hand and i jerk it back out of the water with a startled yelp

in the dimming starlight i see the knuckle bleeding and as the life flows from finger to water the pirahnas make the calm surface bubble and roil

the inner tube is losing shape and the fish prepare to feast

one by one the stars flicker and fade

jagged lightning strikes flare across the sky with blinding abandon

i close my eyes and the purple after image remains

a rider in all black heels his white steed and as he races off i see a hint of a skeletal grins he waves to me

i hesitantly wave back knowing instinctively to draw his attention would not be wise

a crack of thunder booms

and i am alone

if this is the inevitable end i decide to go out with a flourish and dive into the stream head first

sinking like an iron cannon ball into the steamy depths only for the silt to part and find myself plummeting through the sky like an ostrich cursing it’s non-working wings

half way down the lightning bolt flashes and becomes a stairway and i refuse to climb it

wanting the impact

yet floating in midair

i’ll wake soon

i hope


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