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Small silver balls
These word are ringing through
his head,
four quarter notes in repetitious Christmas drone. small
silver balls...
He is trying to recall a
dream,
But the notes get in the way,
blocking all the details.
It is a dream about
transformation,
or mutation,
or change.
Elements of fright, and
elements of wonder.
The first ball is a curiosity.
He sees it on his cheek, size of a tiny beebee.
Small silver ball, buried in his flesh.
Just the top shining through, it sparkles like a diamond.
He scratches, and it pops out,
falling to the floor.
'What the hell', he mutters.
'I command myself: forget it'.
But there are more.
Dream time passes.
Details all scratched out.
Small silver balls.
At least a dozen,
showing on his shirtless chest.
They pop like ripe new
pimples, leaving tiny pits behind. |
