melissaahowells
523,044 poems read
-- DOG/FISH-- a dream state/story
does a drug-fueled brain change how you see/dream?:
on a boat rocking
high tide in the ocean in the sea
with a person nonsensically talking
fishing for a fish
a particular kind of "meat."
I don't eat little fishes
I said. "Not even a shark?"
she barked. "This dog-fish
has row upon row of sharp, razor
teeth, plenty of teeth to leave
their mark, to leave a healthy
bite in thee."
I didn't care, I didn't want to listen.
She was the kind of girl who ate
for attention...either by self-starvation
or gorging. I wanted no part of her
fishing/food hoarding. It seemed, to me,
that what was happening was
about something else.
Along came a dog-fish and it WAS filled
with teeth. She jumped into the churning
water and grabbed the animal from underneath.
Together they struggled, but I wasn't going to
help her. Soon she wrangled in the dog-fish
all by herself. And was basking in some kind of
vain pretentious glory. I wasn't interested
in the sharing of the triumph nor her particular
kind of dog-fish story. I thought of her as some
kind of hunger-driven lump.
She lay the dog-fish on the beach. Grabbing a
huge machete that was within reach, so that she
could eat her prize. Before my eyes,
the dog-fish shifted/changed. Her writhing body's
molecules had become completely rearranged. On the ground
lay a struggling helpless white Labrador.
In my mind, an angel-dog and not a fish.
She wrapped it in banana leaves and the
dog struggled even more. In the corner of my
eye I saw the licking flicker of flames
and heard a fire roar. The angel-dog was yelping.
I couldn't stop her, this woman's hunger nor
her strength. I couldn't reach the angel-dog
as she howled in misery. Afterwards the woman
raised her murderous machete high, cutting
the dog right at the thighs and smacking her
lips and asking if I'd like a leg?
I jumped on what remained of the angel-dog
and fled. Could there be a wizard or a shaman
to make her whole again, that is if she wasn't
dead? ( I had to do SOMETHING!)
I awoke sweating and clutching at a pillow,
doing my best to shake the dream from out of my head.
I don't want this vision anymore. Maybe Lovecraft or
Bradbury or Lieber might appreciate the horror...
pondering on the dog-fish's possibly angelic or
other-worldly origins.
I dreamed this 2 days ago on July 2, 2014/Woke at 3:13 in the a.m.
Copyright July 4, 2014/All Rights Reserved By This Author
All ideas/stories/poetry are the property of this author
Meloo/Melissa A Howells straight from her (copyrighted site) Tilt-a-World
on a boat rocking
high tide in the ocean in the sea
with a person nonsensically talking
fishing for a fish
a particular kind of "meat."
I don't eat little fishes
I said. "Not even a shark?"
she barked. "This dog-fish
has row upon row of sharp, razor
teeth, plenty of teeth to leave
their mark, to leave a healthy
bite in thee."
I didn't care, I didn't want to listen.
She was the kind of girl who ate
for attention...either by self-starvation
or gorging. I wanted no part of her
fishing/food hoarding. It seemed, to me,
that what was happening was
about something else.
Along came a dog-fish and it WAS filled
with teeth. She jumped into the churning
water and grabbed the animal from underneath.
Together they struggled, but I wasn't going to
help her. Soon she wrangled in the dog-fish
all by herself. And was basking in some kind of
vain pretentious glory. I wasn't interested
in the sharing of the triumph nor her particular
kind of dog-fish story. I thought of her as some
kind of hunger-driven lump.
She lay the dog-fish on the beach. Grabbing a
huge machete that was within reach, so that she
could eat her prize. Before my eyes,
the dog-fish shifted/changed. Her writhing body's
molecules had become completely rearranged. On the ground
lay a struggling helpless white Labrador.
In my mind, an angel-dog and not a fish.
She wrapped it in banana leaves and the
dog struggled even more. In the corner of my
eye I saw the licking flicker of flames
and heard a fire roar. The angel-dog was yelping.
I couldn't stop her, this woman's hunger nor
her strength. I couldn't reach the angel-dog
as she howled in misery. Afterwards the woman
raised her murderous machete high, cutting
the dog right at the thighs and smacking her
lips and asking if I'd like a leg?
I jumped on what remained of the angel-dog
and fled. Could there be a wizard or a shaman
to make her whole again, that is if she wasn't
dead? ( I had to do SOMETHING!)
I awoke sweating and clutching at a pillow,
doing my best to shake the dream from out of my head.
I don't want this vision anymore. Maybe Lovecraft or
Bradbury or Lieber might appreciate the horror...
pondering on the dog-fish's possibly angelic or
other-worldly origins.
I dreamed this 2 days ago on July 2, 2014/Woke at 3:13 in the a.m.
Copyright July 4, 2014/All Rights Reserved By This Author
All ideas/stories/poetry are the property of this author
Meloo/Melissa A Howells straight from her (copyrighted site) Tilt-a-World