The Key to DreamsBy Sean S. Bentley
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The Key to Dreams
after Magritte
Meanwhile “are” should be an active
verb. How many grains of sand are
in a sledgehammer? How evenly
the guilt is shared: the dunes shifting
their weights again bring themselves
to strike, and the remaining world
breaks up like a rotted wall.
Meanwhile the planets, all of them,
have kicked off their shoes and lie
in their huge, hard bed. They think
they are cuddling. For planets,
they are cuddling. The bed is so hard
they grow numb, so numb the bed
forgets itself and softens a bit.
The pathetic shoes decide to jump
into the huddle. Or should they wait?
Meanwhile, life winnows itself.
An egg, one superlative egg, could be
anything – acacia is immediate
in its hyperbole – and its long-winged
mother calls above countless inert
puddles (not to say inconsolable).
Somewhere in the galaxy a flatworm
is loose. No matter
that it has no word for freedom.
Meanwhile a tall gentleman
unspecific as a snowy bush
attempts his daily stroll, but
there are many small things.
If he were less dogmatic
he would wait until the hats melted.
Either everything must be metaphor
or nothing. On the lip of a glass
sanity crawls like a caterpillar,
round from side to side or all
the same. Outside, a storm is taking
liberties with clarity and order,
as storms do. Sometimes it resembles
a glass, and at others
that larva of some thing which,
luckily for us, we are unable to believe.
Meanwhile, how can a candle still
be a candle when it is burning?
The same way a ceiling can.
The grandeur of randomness
steps or does not step
forward, sideways, plain
in its innumerable facts.
The dream generates whole new
constellations, dimensions
layering on like shingles
or drops of wax. Over our head,
possibly beautiful – why not? –
the universe flames.
after Magritte
Meanwhile “are” should be an active
verb. How many grains of sand are
in a sledgehammer? How evenly
the guilt is shared: the dunes shifting
their weights again bring themselves
to strike, and the remaining world
breaks up like a rotted wall.
Meanwhile the planets, all of them,
have kicked off their shoes and lie
in their huge, hard bed. They think
they are cuddling. For planets,
they are cuddling. The bed is so hard
they grow numb, so numb the bed
forgets itself and softens a bit.
The pathetic shoes decide to jump
into the huddle. Or should they wait?
Meanwhile, life winnows itself.
An egg, one superlative egg, could be
anything – acacia is immediate
in its hyperbole – and its long-winged
mother calls above countless inert
puddles (not to say inconsolable).
Somewhere in the galaxy a flatworm
is loose. No matter
that it has no word for freedom.
Meanwhile a tall gentleman
unspecific as a snowy bush
attempts his daily stroll, but
there are many small things.
If he were less dogmatic
he would wait until the hats melted.
Either everything must be metaphor
or nothing. On the lip of a glass
sanity crawls like a caterpillar,
round from side to side or all
the same. Outside, a storm is taking
liberties with clarity and order,
as storms do. Sometimes it resembles
a glass, and at others
that larva of some thing which,
luckily for us, we are unable to believe.
Meanwhile, how can a candle still
be a candle when it is burning?
The same way a ceiling can.
The grandeur of randomness
steps or does not step
forward, sideways, plain
in its innumerable facts.
The dream generates whole new
constellations, dimensions
layering on like shingles
or drops of wax. Over our head,
possibly beautiful – why not? –
the universe flames.
Sean S. Bentley's work has appeared in the magazines Crab Creek Review, Seattle Review, Third Coast, Painted Bride, Northwest Review, Poetry NOW, Bellingham Review, Another Chicago Magazine, Coe Review, and many others, as well as the anthologies Pontoon 3 (Floating Bridge Press), Iron Country (Copper Canyon), Intro 6 (Doubleday), Island Of Rivers (Pacific NW National Parks Assoc.), and Darkness and Light: Private Writing as Art (iUniverse). In addition, he has published three collections: Grace & Desolation (Cune Press), Instances (Confluence Press), and Into the Bright Oasis (Jawbone Press). From 1986 to 2006 he coedited the print poetry journal Fine Madness.