Eric Ashford Poet Free verse

Dream Climber

All night he climbs his spinal cord,
up and down he goes
a worker ant
gathering globules of memory.
The bony spine itself
offers handholds for his ghosts.

At each spinal notch 
he enters the swim
of sub-osseous neural bundles.
Images are scooped up,
mixed into an alphabet soup
of alternative realities.

He climbs upward only to pause stymied 
at the brains tightly packed folds
listens as an outsider
to the down-time humming
of a million closed circuitry heartbeats.

There is too much convoluted counting there,
too much to harvest in one night,
and so he travels back down the cord
to a low-clouded complexity
where shrouded stems burst open
their dark flowers
to engulf the embryonic mythologies
of sleeping giants.

In the morning
he hears himself thinking:
the thoughts are loud
they beat upon the top of his skull
like starving children
trying to escape.

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