Strange dreams last night
include gathering enthusiastic consumers
to shepherd and possibly own
cheaply decaying properties,
ghettoes of hopelessness,
ungodliness.
And, later,
an all male bacchanal
of real estate agents,
toned agencies for commercial acquisition,
surrounded by witnessing properties
of no sensory interest
to any realtime guy,
straight or gay
or in-between.
Gathered to teach their purchasers’ desire
and demise
while getting naked
in a boorishly unsexy way,
while dispassionately watching
in time’s eternal mirror.
They
and our witnessing
and witnessed properties
nakedly longing for resilient sensuality
and settling for this brief
spasmodic climax
of Time’s young adult male supremacy
over realtime commodified markets
Iconic of mass mediated
male mattered
sexuality,
Visual
and, at best,
marginally sensual
Inviting touch without true feeling,
sight without warm hearing,
natural taste without spiritual fragrance,
being without belonging,
mass without energy
yang without yin
space without sufficient time
to dream,
remember
regenerate
resonate
resolve
dissolve,
Breathe in
as out
invites Earth’s new dawn
PostViral 2020
If I were to shamelessly indulge what should remain hidden in 0/0 mystery, and boldly attempt to interpret this dream, which, of course, I would never publicly admit, I would timidly guess these dreams could be about defining patriarchalism as a world view in which sensuality could not remain connected and valued as an ecologically and theologically relevant form of intelligence, perhaps even ecofeminist wisdom of profound ego/eco-therapeutic merit.
strange dreams last…
