Eyes Of The Walls

A little over a year ago, I tripped over a crack in the sidewalk in front of our house. The fall resulted in a badly torn rotator cuff that ended in surgery. After surgery, I was given some pretty hard-core pain medications that resulted in some bizarre, surreal dreams. This poem is a recounting of one of those dreams. I'm sure Jung would have a field day analyzing this dream. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ dozens of switches emerge from the walls like square faces, illuminating smiles with a single touch at the tip of their noses; leaves of plants like green creatures' palms, waiting to slap me, or shake hands with me; cactus-thorns waiting to pierce my fingers, and taste my red blood with their green gelatine beneath my affectionate, tender touch; the parrots peek at me through the cage's bars with their beady surveillance-camera eyes, with deafening twitters which make my heart evade out of its own ribcage, and explode my brain in thousands of echoes, reverberating through my veins; the abat-jours hide the light beneath umbrellas emerging in the darkness, like mushrooms after the rain, breaking the moss, and the moist orange foliage in a forest frightened with wind, shaking branches like skeletons unearthed from cemeteries; like the dead claiming the life: the little life that shrinks around my sparrow heart; the mythological gods with their ghostly shadows reflected in the sky-blue glass-walls, stretch to catch the sunbeams, and walk out of their pedestals; parading naked in the common—naked white silhouettes: walking beings with no being of their own, except in my mind which attributes them magic.