A little bit of coffee, a little bit of soap. Hand on the bell cord, eye on the rope.
April 12, 2021
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Dream Fragment, 3:45 a.m.
A young man, of sixteen or seventeen and a stranger to me, leads me to a table, atop which is a curious arrangement of small objects, seemingly of a scientific nature. “If I die,” he says quietly, and with the utmost reverence for his work, “I want you to have them.” He looks at me, to be sure I understand.
Yes, I think, some things, like transparent bells with tiny copper gears inside.
And hummingbirds — do they not have names they forget to tell?
Recently Banned Literature, March 23, 2012
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Categories: Dreams, New Poems & Pieces, Recently Banned Literature
Tags: Bells, Diaries, Dreams, Hummingbirds, Journals, Meaning, Memory, Names
William Michaelian 