Peter Prokopiev’s Reviews > Glass, Irony and God > Status Update

Hot blue moonlight down the steep sky.
I wake too fast from a cellar of hanged puppies with my eyes pouring into the dark.
Fumbling
and slowly
consciousness replaces the bars.
Dreamtails and angry liquids
swim back down to the middle of me.
It is generally anger dreams that occupy my nights now.

Four naked alder trunks rise straight up from it and sway in the blue air. Each trunk
where it enters the ice radiates a map of silver pressures-thousands of hair-thin cracks catching the white of the light like a jailed face
catching grins through the bars.

But by now the day is wide open and a strange young April light is filling the moor with gold milk
I have reached the middle
where the ground goes down into a depression and fills with swampy
water.
It is frozen.
A solid black pane of moor life caught in its own night attitudes.
Certain wild gold arrangements of weed are visible deep in the black.

Mornings when I meditated
I was presented with a nude glimpse of my lone soul, not the complex mysteries of love and hate.
But the Nudes are still as clear in my mind as pieces of laundry that froze on the clothesline overnight.

Kitchen is quiet as a bone when I come in.
No sound from the rest of the house.
I wait a moment then open the fridge.
Brilliant as a spaceship it exhales cold confusion.

I can feel that other day running underneath this one like an old videotape
…
Time in its transparent loops as it passes beneath me now still carries the sound of the telephone in that room
…

From the first 10 pages:

I can hear little clicks inside my dream
…
Spring opens like a blade there.
…
The bare trees and bleached wooden sky of April
carve into me with knives of light
…