Friday the Thirteenth: Friday Morning Frights: February: Not March
last or less than last maybe last
time I saw Mom in dream
flesh with muffled dream
voice she my blessed Mom
sat across from me in perhaps
an airport lobby and she spoke to
me of temperance of impulse
control distinction between want
and need how very little beyond
breath movement of blood water
some modicum of sustenance and
hopefully love and I shut my
dream ears tighter than size
32 pants digging into my waist
and I cloaked myself dipped
my entire being dream and
awakened in selfishness in
rigid NARCISSISM and I forced my
ears to only hear my own empty
desires for entertainment
travels conspicuous consumption
absorbing and projecting entitle-
ment to boxes overflowing with
artistic gourmet cookies flights
first-class to poison and over
kill concerts and nights served
kalamatia olives inside 500
star hotels a combination of
travel channel and headbanger’s
ball life and Mom encouraged
contentment mindfulness and
gratefully living while NARCISSIST
ME DEMANDED like Roger Waters’
ANTIHERO to be amused to death
for conspicuous consumption
meant I was dead even as a
dream being dead to all of the
blessings of the present moment
the honor and privilege of
seeing and hearing MOM in angelic
dream form MOM without burning
cigarette MOM content like a soft
piano tune and my NARCISSISM and
SELFISHNESS became evil in the dream
flesh and I sought to dominate
overpower and emotionally harm
Mom and I proclaimed ‘well, fine,
then I’m moving out and I’m
never talking to you again!’ and
Mom even in dream angel form
began to weep and she walked
away and vanished and I was
left ALONE alive and empty in
dream and human flesh and I
had my NARCISSISM my empty
all to myselfishness and
I need to hear and awaken
*written by Jo Sonofjo Wolstenholme*
*February 13, 2009*
