jumping into a puddle as deep as dreams,
black, stitched with glass shards,
smashing it’s surface from a hundred feet,
falling in, searching for my xanadu,
slip and slide into a sleepy snooze,
with fiery, icy splashes setting around me.

above, through the mottled skin, stretches the sky,
colour bent, sky setup in every kind of deep pink,
trees climb up my arms, leaves stained mahogany,
grass greener than a song bird’s whisper,
I'm dizzy, awakened by the sound of a jackal,

“follow me” said he

with me in disbelief I just followed meagrely,
praising flowers of cupids hands,
with the smell of fresh bread painted on their stems,
rivers tinted blue by the sapphires sprouting below the diamond, jagged surface,
animals in houses keeping people as pets,
crops of pasta, salmon, and French fries,
bugs, see through, made entirely of hand blown glass,

“what's your name”, I hinted with an enquiring eye

“I am who you escaped from
I am who you are running to,
what you hated with fear,
but couldn't help but befriend,
I'm those nightmares you had,
and the dreams the next night,
I'm the evil in the good you hoped was pure,
and the good in the devil you had over for dinner,
I am the jackal and need no name,
a metaphor for everything just the same”

“where are we going?” I spat

“to visit a friend you had on a younger land,
you as a younger lad” said he in contemplated eyes

“why am I here?
why are you here?
I've been holding my bag on my lap long enough,
there's dents and tears where fingers rest,
the dirt seems to represent my life”

“our journey is long,
your mind wondered wrong,” he hinted.

in a land under a puddle,
tangible is not even imaginable,
my foot steps have the sound of a hundred voices,
my words have the sound of a hundred footsteps,
the wind tickles,
the sun whispers, sweet heat through my hair,
two children play bearing striking resemblance to my parents,
overheard the mottled roof turns royal purple,
and stars open their eyes amongst the grass,
the crickets fly singing with gleaming cries,
the children play on, night time here is just another second,
mealtime, whenever they feel it,

we move on.

the jackal of no obvious name trundles just before me,
his dancing paws trick my optics.
we travel a billion yards,
sliding down the back of father time,

I pull a penny from behind the great fathers ear,
this feels familiar,
save a penny, make a pound,
fuck it, I flick it into the unfamiliar,
many skies changed, many suns round,

“my jackal, as I have come to call you,
where do you come from?”

“Babylon”

we move on. tiptoeing on an awkward silence,
we slice mood, hack the air, we're making tracks in banter back an forth,

behind the river that's been following us since I arrived,
dances a treacle dirt meandering path,
filled with vehicles made of people,
driven by beetles hooked up to saddles,

in the sight I revel,
the appeal of the ideal,
it's all a meal for my mind,
I've no idea where we are,
I could care not and follow the jackal as before,

as we part the leaves of the willow,,
we open a curtain to a stage,
a barren floor,
bright lit,
to an unbelievable roar,

“jackal, jackal where did we land?
where's the river, the cricket, the pasta?”

as I look around, eyes blinded by the halogens,
no willow in sight, only the stage, decorated by every light bright,

“jackal, jackal where did it go?”

“on the back of your hand, that's where you drew this land”

staring down at a shaky metacarpal frame,

I fall through my veins,
back past the glass,
animals in windows,
puddles, skies an glass,
the ruby rivers and meadows,

back through the willow and on the wooden stage again,

every member of the crowd a version of me at different minutes within my life,
a panel of judges made up of my childhood,
and a host, who, without recognition, chants dance,

I fall to the chance in a dopey trance,
barely stretching a move before I'm forcefully removed rudely by my future path,
thrown out the stage door into a puddle as deep as a dream.

5/2/8

spysays