An overwhelming sense of real takes precedence in my vision. The grain of human flesh is no different then in my waking hours. Smells and the other things that usually stimulate a reckoning of realism are all present. I stand among a crowd of men. None do I know by name, rather a presence of familiar acquaintances seems the description. Oddly familiar are those around me. We are all placed among the porch of a simple home, lawn chairs and the things that adorn a home seem all present. A small concrete slab, with sense of informal gatherings is under my feet. Something unseen is lurking on the seat of a chair facing away from me. I sense the presence from intuition alone. One of the group seems overly confident and grasps the object with defiance of its primal essence. Setting the being abruptly towards the cement floor I recognize what was lurking in my subconscious perception. A snake, small, still in its adolescence. The viper hovers maybe an inch above the ground and looks deep within me. Recognizing me with depth of souls united. Poised to strike yet uncoiled, the rattling tail warns of intention. Taking several steps aft ward I warn of the venom. Turning to the group I show my fear of what is to come from here forth. Awkwardly I stumble past the group and turn to see the creature has morphed into a lizard resembling creature; flashing a broad tail like that of a water intended life form and a broader body with five unevenly spaced legs. The legs flow into strange flat webbed feet, these short legs and aquatic feet speak of a creature not borne for land. A growing hiss and flash of forked tongue are replaced with the gentle face of a cat. Whiskers and all, this animal not of earthly credentials still posses the scales of its reptilian past and the stripes of an animal that stalks prey in tall fields of gently blowing grass. I turn to speak, the group looks on as my vision blacks and nothing in my view that once was. From origin to finale this creature of unknown origin was never more then eight inches.  Now as if in a cartoon, drawn to resemble a dream the creation of my mind changes in bright colors before my eyes. As the transition begins there is an underlying pain its eyes give the story of this feeling. I share its anguish of unknown future. From the neck down the image is severed and exists hovering in blackened perception with no body all these feelings are shared I do briefly possess a glimpse of the future as if the soul has made a journey across the boundary of time and the physical existence changes simply to speak of this knowledge. My physical self is no longer present and through eyes with no body I view from now on. An allusion to the perception spoken of through spirit it seems now. Suddenly the cats face painfully contorts into an iridescent cactus, tiny red flowers guarded by the quills and spines that adorn its otherwise smooth glistening body speak of power. Red flowers, gently grow larger, to say one could pluck these beautiful fruits is an understament. Larger until blooming into glistening, white, powdery blossoms, these fruits evolve organically. Suddenly with jarring momentum a face reappears from the body of the cactus. Large innocent eyes replace blossoming crisp, whit plumes of flowering buds. The face stretches pushing and reshaping the body of the cactus it takes a violent transition to birth realization of form. The last portion of cactus forms the antlers of a young deer. Once again blossoming white flowers transition to the gentle fuzz that coats the antlers obtained each year on the buck moon. As if a mental blink takes place I only see the flash of a young deer bolting from the presence of man.

The next view is myself without bodily form and yet still present among the crowd viewing a cage full of identical animals. All young deer, now entering adulthood and shedding the innocence of childhood perception; known is their cage and it glazes the wild eyes of such feral creatures bleeding to be free. Among the crowd I feel simultaneously in the cage. My perception is divided between man and beast. Known is my cage of humanity that freedom once known is stripped. A longing to free the animal that is partially me is surging though I do not know which one holds my other half. Can I free all to sprint back into wilderness? It seems impossible, referencing Plato, the cave has become home. If ill timed there could be a suicidal crouch and burying deep within the cave. Resting on uncertainty the next step seems unknown.

You say you want a revolution
Well you know
We all want to change the world
You tell me that it's evolution
Well you know
We all want to change the world
But when you talk about destruction
Don't you know you can count me out in
Don't you know it's gonna be alright
Alright Alright

You say you got a real solution
Well you know
we'd all love to see the plan
You ask me for a contribution
Well you know
We're doing what we can
But if you want money for people with minds that hate
All I can tell you is brother you have to wait
Don't you know it's gonna be alright
Alright Alright

You say you'll change the constitution
Well you know
we all love to change your head
You tell me it's the institution
Well you know
You better free your mind instead
But if you go carrying pictures of Chairman Mao
You ain't going to make it with anyone anyhow
Don't you know know it's gonna be alright
Alright Alright

-beetles-

a poem of contemplation

Departmental
by Robert Frost - 1936
An ant on the tablecloth
Ran into a dormant moth
Of many times his size.
He showed not the least surprise.
His business wasn't with such.
He gave it scarcely a touch,
And was off on his duty run.
Yet if he encountered one
Of the hive's enquiry squad
Whose work is to find out God
And the nature of time and space,
He would put him onto the case.
Ants are a curious race;
One crossing with hurried tread
The body of one of their dead
Isn't given a moment's arrest-
Seems not even impressed.
But he no doubt reports to any
With whom he crosses antennae,
And they no doubt report
To the higher-up at court.
Then word goes forth in Formic:
"Death's come to Jerry McCormic,
Our selfless forager Jerry.
Will the special Janizary
Whose office it is to bury
The dead of the commissary
Go bring him home to his people.
Lay him in state on a sepal.
Wrap him for shroud in a petal.
Embalm him with ichor of nettle.
This is the word of your Queen."
And presently on the scene
Appears a solemn mortician;
And taking formal position,
With feelers calmly atwiddle,
Seizes the dead by the middle,
And heaving him high in air,
Carries him out of there.
No one stands round to stare.
It is nobody else's affair
It couldn't be called ungentle
But how thoroughly departmental

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end game

a good friend