On a cool spring day, I fell asleep
In a bed of blooming flowers.
When I awoke, I was surrounded:
A poet, a novelist, a playwright, an essayist.
The poet vibrantly clad in a purple cloak
Stroked his beard and with a crayon in his hand
Wrote on my arm, “Your very flesh shall be a great poem.”
He took my wrist and led me to a shelf, and pulled out an annotated song of myself.
Then, he spoke,
“By studying these lines, you will learn to synthesize words like a poet, and a spark will be lit – enlightening your
inner poet’s wit.
He sank into the shadows, and the novelist attacked.
A surly mustached cynic whose menacing eyes threatened
Me under his pearly white hair, dapperly combed over his arrogant head.
He walked around me like a critic, until
He pinched my head with a quill and my soul with a stare.
Drawing blood, he wrote upon parchment,
“Better to remain silent and be thought a fool
than to speak out and remove all doubt.”
A gentle red-headed playwright soothed the pain,
He put his arm around my shoulder, and we took
A long day’s journey into the night.
He refused to speak or let me utter a word.
For hours, we watched a family disintegrate –
Chaos and drunkenness.
Watching me watch,
He softly whispered, “Life is for each man a solitary cell, whose walls are mirrors.”
Finally, I turned to the left, where the essayist gazed with stone cold eyes at me
From under his jet black hair, and after a moment
Or two, his lips curled into a smile. He grabbed my hand
Spun me in circles and took me to a pond. There,
I had an uncontrollable desire to see my reflection.
I reduced myself to all fours
And peered over the edge of the bank, where I saw
It, but it wasn’t me.
I was cloaked in purple, sporting a thick moustache
With fiery red hair and stone cold eyes unlike my own.
When I looked up to my guide, he smiled before I spoke and said
“A man is a method, a progressive arrangement a selecting principle, gathering his like to him;
Wherever he goes.”
I came to, lying in a garden
Beside a pencil and a notebook.
I opened it up, and stared at the blank pages
And began to write.