August 17, 2013
"You think you're such hot shit..."
So I wrote about this dream I had awhile back... and I forgot that I told the dream to Jax, too. Then, whilst cleaning my office, I found this poem she'd written for me:
Knock Wood, Throw Salt
Alison picking up the stars
& putting them back in the sky.
In your dream
they are burning cold to the touch
not hot, as you might think,
& whether they have fallen
by accident or design
we don't know—
they're stars, they keep
their own council
but here you go nonetheless
picking them up, one by one, &
placing them in their proper
constellations; no crude flinging
to mar the propriety of it.
And upon being accused of thinking
too highly of yourself, you squeak
no—I'm just the janitor!
which is so like you in waking life,
as if all the small miracles
you make every day were
so many grains of salt
tossed carelessly over your shoulder.
P.S. I know, I know, again with the rock star. But I like rock stars.