that is nothing,
not spectacular,
not weird at all,
but just normal.
Like a narrative,
taken straight
and without
embellishments
or intriguing
and beguiling
or so scary
bits of action.
Last night
it was, again,
all about me.
I stood
and stared
upon the two,
I now shall call them
the darling buds
of Fay,
shyly revealed
behind the
Ponderosa Pines,
because the mill
had people close,
too close.
And I was frozen,
in space
and time,
a man made
of curare.
The freeze remained
in place
but blurry vision
changed
the image,
it went from boobs
to a big head,
emerging from
the birth canal
in silence.
The awe was
just the same.
Those awesome dreams.