SoMa Literary Review - Brand New Dress * Dream Now Breed

Brand New Dress * Dream Now Breed

By PMPope

A - brand new dress

some rose petals

sunset on the sky

'..treat me liKe some dumb chick..'

who just hung round

what's wrong with me

is what's wrong today

coming back from the airport

on April's Fools

scotch gaurd the pubic patch

it's the funniest shit you've ever seen

here comes Mister Lapels

escorted in by a bombshell

can I still say that?

or I am another loser burning, man?

I've got this hotel thing blamed

on a gay cartoon baby in diapers

'cause I can't just hang around

the city

she's all like...

she can't marry me

'cause she's like a Christian

they don't wanna teach their kids

about Islam

or Buddah

or the Spirit in the Sky

puts the words in the electronic le

xicon like it's raindrops @ the olive bar

where noone goes

or they don't wanna know

your name

or what it is you might

have seen

or where you may have been..

you try

you DON'T try

teachers get special freedoms

what the rest of the world

won't know about

'Writers of the Morlock'

[that was mine]

gotta get out there

I want to know what he thinks?

so I ask for 'something to take me out.'

He serves a bar whiskey and I nurse it

watching a Page girl reading under a spotlight

another one in a recycled

Brand

Dress

riding meteors

they crash into Earth

were we might be caught

in the middle

dreaming in the rain

watching scorpions battle with a chap

I can only assume is Keanu Reeves

we laugh, for up the stairs, from this,

some nameless, unrecognizable person gets stuck in the can

neither of us dare cross

the battlefield of the scorpion steps...

so this dream

is the dream

of the upper part

of Purgetory,

after Canto XXIII.

I am being hustled and bustled about

so much so

that a Drew Barrymore,

if not THEE Drew Barrymore,

has found her way into the Morlock

to ask me what I think of the Hearst Corporation.

To which, having my brains scrambled

like a Chinese omlette yellow taxicab,

i respond with all the info at my dispose

"Oh, yeah... they have that building on Market and there's like Patty

Hearst and Charlie Manson and they all go sledding, when it snows in

town, with Orson Wells who's always crying 'Rosebud. Rosebud' all the

way home... Was that right? Did I win?"

like i said, i'm the one getting hustled over here.

I'm on this weird contraption of transportation/ all pieces and bits/

of a poem still in motion/the chinese baby new year rat manager/looks

somewhat shocked/to which i previously responded/

'It's not the 1st time I chased the Rabbit through a mirror backwards!'

and ZOOM! off I am rushed into a decadant salon to find myself seated

served by waitress angels all dolled up in earth tone uniforms.

Everytime I turn my eye... One offers coffee. One offers information.

One is seated on my lap... I believe this one to be sent by the

pussycatbird who flies so far along the western world...

but continually put upon by supremely electromagnetic forces... and

sending me dreams...

but like in coastal carnival towns

WHERE>NEW

some must dream

like to live

Also by PMPope on SoMa Literary Review: Staring @ Sea End Sunset

PMPope is hunting the cyber-wilds for literary agents, working towards release of �Open Source Stories� [compiled from blogs, poems, and Linux flavored technical data], hoping his building doesn't get sold from underneath him by scared sh**less real estate chicken a**es, and sitting on the dock of the Bay. He has books of poetry & prose available through his Web site. PMPope resides in San Francisco .