Deconstruction of the Blues

Facing Faces Become a Vase

19 FACING FACES BECOME A VASE The dream dreamed a false life in a cutaway dollhouse in New Jersey where I lolled troubled tracking my Uncle Mac’s failure in politics (poly ticks many bloodsuckers) I woke needing to pee in a vivid fragrance of my young mother how she’d pitied humored honored her dumb older brother Mac And the familiar dread of her death scared me awake So I fell from the cocoon of my contradivided interior out into the sudden spaces My book its meanings shrunken estranged being ‘considered’ by this editor Jim Smith himself tiny among the rest of the editors his press tiny among presses large only as now peering up its editorship imploring like a puppy Whence I began to scribble feverishly in my notebook in the dark sought to write down this vertigo of outsideness thousandness billionness of outsideness how it sucks our souls out between our teeth to write it to you dear reader these words coins flags billboards the only keys between us you and I fitting inside out outside in This page intentionally left blank. ...