Dreams Of A Dog Poem by Paul Wilson

Who are you and
Who are you and
Who are you and
Where are you going?

Deep dark outer and within,
Entering through the eyes,
Stealthily occupying,
Echoes the conundrum:
What car, what lamp, what tramp, what drain
Could resurrect my fearful name?

Each silver garbage can
Is a planet;
Each streetlight balloon
Is a high half-moon

Silent night, with the skyscraper universe
Holding the heavens up, leaving
Just a little air to breathe,
Room to move.

The pavingslabs' geometric progression
Reflects my moonlit nightcry
Down the downtown void;
And not one lilybrained electric soul
To woo my discomfort
With his gob.

The firmament
Will open up and
Swallow me up and…
So this is the answer!
He opened his mouth
Like a tunnel
And shouted: ‘Help! '
You yawned, they said
- I'm dead!

As the tincture of the
Celestial plane above Manhattan
Begins to hint at
The dawn of the apocalypse,
And the moonshine, my one witness,
Shimmers to fade away
The verdant recesses of
Ultimate vistas open
To where a resplendent dawn
A million miles away
At the centre of it
Flushes in atonement,
As God makes his promise
To a new world with new people;
How can there be room
Among the pedagogues and statues
For me, fagend of believers,
Scum of the world's night
Of the city's scourge shall I
(beginning at the beginning)
Become the tidemark
Consciousness invisible
Of this our new age? Who are you
Who are you good morning my
Mind banged with terror, o
I am forsaken!

Dreams
Of a dog.