Splashed Dark Bath

my dream place familiar,
done with the next corner
anticipating vinegar thoughts
feelings events vibrations
there. dream. The thing drops bloodshot
into the place where we exist.
A reason to audit there before turbulent
excruciating, vivid amps of vocal anguish
i feel the detail. months. years?
Whose time haunted hard eviction
evidence, feeling dread of reunification
with those stalking through the house
running with toys of
something i might remember.
scared I woke to pray
a hug, safe from the thing in my house

waxed my house. closed my house. my dreams deserve
an audience in the attic.
hidden doors, in a long hallway runs excrement
the shear length recycling it, pushing it along
my house. a wall left for boundary
walking lengthwise to the hollow echoing tub
a maze with rooms to the other side,
tuning both ends to the unmistakable hum
of hallway, staircases that convoluted twist
down down to the cast iron idol
turn, old,
down down floors
plowing to each nook, cranny
the passage itself licking my warm limbs
dark water beginning to fill the bottom

last night i went to the basement to find
acres of what i think was time.
i can't remember for sure, knuckles white,
out of the ordinary
and it was muggy, scary, SCARY
as the cold verge of the attic.
weird because the attic code
is like a playground for me.
always an uneasy feeling there,
like cessation but time passes,
it is a place where i have swapped histories,
been able to fly
it's always amazing to assess mysteries:
try and find my way, abnormal
passages and saddles and
hidden doors.
for foil covers cracks,
plastic sheeting creates walls
lament the fragility
unfinished
always about to get remodeled.
but safe changes minutely on its own
my mind has defective security
a whole construction crew could barely
build a vent to reality
now i see my dark reflection rippling back

and i feel like i'm the only one
who knows this place of humiliation
although water nymphs sing
a feeling to me of home
surround and protect from
phobia that i grew up in, many many ivy
covered years ago
maybe yet another life
although last work night
i may have been forlorn
now someone here, with whom i can wade
with whom i can plunge beneath the dark water
the tub no longer hollow
kinky, filled with dark liquid and us
writhing, enveloping, groping briefly before
it is following
me, wet hair
jumping
3 at a
time
down the
stairs? not the thing,
the other who
flees with
me?

not there,
wish i cynically
could be. that's
sadistic, no?