Be'ersheva In MY Neurons

Be'ersheva In MY Neurons (PMxv)

What planet was I on last

Friday?

I remember being here but for

the life of me I cannot construct

what I did,

what I wrote,

who I spoke to and why.

Feelings of idiocy soak my inner

pulse,

and I worry if I offended anyone

in passing,

or just from the act of sitting in

my chair and dreaming from

side to side.

I feel the pulse, the heartbeat

of something moving towards

me,

like the score from Alien,

I can't see what's coming but

I can distinctly feel tentacles

reaching out for me

and I know something

is not as it should

be.

I have envisioned a live

circus act in my brain,

acrobats flying overhead, a

lion tamer without the top hat,

various clowns in various

stages of undress, and some

only partly made-up, frowns

etched on frowny faces making

them doubly sad and even

more disturbing.

I watch as the man is shot

out of the cannon and he disappears

through the hole he made in the

canvas of the tent,

straight from a Yogi Bear cartoon.

I have left the circus now and

I wander home through the

empty streets,

stepping over garbage,

all of it seeming to come from

McDonald's as if they had

somehow trained the garbage

cans to reject that filth.

I see a car's headlights in the

distance and I hide in a

doorway,

feeling that someone is looking

for me,

even probably wanting to

hurt me.

I watch as the car passes

the driver, eyes looking forward

does not pay me a glance,

yet the passenger has stared

deep into my eyes,

fondling the skin of my soul

and preparing to infiltrate.

I look away into time and

watch as the car continues along

the street and out of sight.

Five minutes later I am back home

in bed,

the clock is ticking,

and the cat is purring at

the foot of the bed.

It is hot, but the window is

wide open allowing the aroma

of the street to waft it's way

in.

I sleep but I do not dream,

I only dream when I am

awake.

MCC