in another dimension
in another dimension
Three wooden doors faced me
and they said,
“It could be you
or it might be me.”
What,
wait,
you don’t see
or is it that you don’t believe?
Wasn’t it The Wizard of Oz
that contained
talking trees?
It seems like all we do
is dream,
but there’s a difference
between what’s in my head
and reality,
a prisoner to thought,
how about the possibility
that the crazy homeless man across the street
acting out his fantasy
is closer to free
then we'll ever be.
Thursday,
the fourth day of my work week,
moved to California to see
if I could drive this demon out of my mind
through writing,
They came to him in private
and asked,
“Why couldn’t we?”
“Because you have so little faith.”
“How much do we need?”
“The size of a mustard seed.”
We were all once 16,
our world vast as eternity,
in the backyard of my childhood home
I started digging,
one, two, three years of work,
but then the rain started pouring;
effort covered up
with the floods of doubt,
times test to separate
the wheat from the chaff.
But,
what’s Biblical allegory
got to do with it
when all that’s on TV is Kim Kardashian
on my screen?
Frost came to two roads,
Jesus spoke of two gates,
a divergence to see
that they mentioned two
when I see three?
I knew a mechanic
who worked on machinery,
he knew the riddle to the world,
solved its problems with
a wrench, a cigarette,
and a little time to think,
but at 16
I still saw people for what they could be;
I came to him
holding a dream,
“Put that away.”
“Why?” I asked.
He sighed, “It hurt me.”
I opened the middle door
where inside blank disbelieving eyes
spilled out coaxing me in,
I told them I couldn’t
and that they had to go back in,
I looked to the right door
and opened it to see
the comforting black sorrow I once knew,
the mechanic stood in the darkness of mind
at the workbench of his life
squeezing what was left of his heart in a vise.
Ash coming from his mouth
he asked,
“Should I pour a drink for two?”
With fear
I looked to the one door
that I had left,
I opened it and heard no song,
but saw the white light of consciousness
between time and space,
time on a linear line
and a man surrounded by the works
of his future.
He said,
“What,
wait,
you still don’t see?”