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early morning notes

Dry is the thread, brittle and frayed. Now the stitching will not hold.
May I be so bold?
As to tell you of a dream I’ve had?

  Through dusty road and whistling trees, I traveled into the grit rich pitch. It would seem to be for nothing. Then the reason came, and then my reason left me. I saw it there, perched upon a hill. A pile of broken boards some would call a home, and so bent in the middle, I crawled in. I’ve been here before, dreaming of a dream. The castles King propped indefinitely on his throne of straw, and across the way his maid, cloaked in strands of hair. Every feature shrouded by tiny braids of gold. Do I know her? I know her, an ugly man full of filth! A smile of hatred rises to the occasion, and I rip away his disguise. “Throw him to the pigs! To the pigs! Lovely pigs, get fat on him these needy pigs!” Sharing my actions with a congregation, all with faces I’ve seen before, I lead them to the rooftop. Pointing out the things they should watch for, saying and pointing;"Mark my words, THAT!, over there!...We will see again. Trust me, watch. That, we will see again!". It is a carriage, so empty it bears only sound. Without a driver, unladen and old, it rambles on a pitted dirt road. Creaking and rattling, calling out to those found wanting, and who long for travel. Mark my words, we will see this again. It will be full of grace, and full of bodies. A prophecy, a carriage, bearing flesh and the sound of flies.

(2013)

I don't usually attach notes to my writing. However, this is a little different. I will often wake up from a dream and start writing down the clips and phrases I can remember. Whether or not if it makes sense, dreams seldom do, this is how one of them turned out in my notebook.

Other works by James Matthew Coleman...



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