skyscraper

hey guys. love the stuff that you two have been putting up. this is a poem that was birthed out of justin's window photo. love that picture man. the poem may feel somewhat aloof from the photo, but it was definitely inspired by it. hope you like it. do you have a name for that shot justin? it's not critical - just curious. i would love any input about the poem, especially on the title - that's always the hardest part for me. "skyscraper" has no bearing or significance on the poem itself - just a cool word that i plucked out that feels in contrast to the poem itself. i'm open to new suggestions.

skyscraper

at times
coming back from a dream
i’m struck with a synaptic burst of some kind
wham
straight thru the body
electrifying sensory receptors like a brush fire
crashing in like a wave that immediately drags itself back out
a spell of clairvoyance maybe
can’t say for sure

once it has moved on to wherever it goes
i’m left with only a remnant of what it was
i lay there as though searching for a particular word or name
waiting for the revelation
“wait for it!”
nothing

there is something though
one thing tends to stay -
it’s something like the deja vu
that smacks of a misplaced dream:

I get the sure, yet vague sense
that one morning
i will wake up in the very same house
in the very same room
and as though my window were a slide projector
without warning or surprise
i will look up and see something altogether new
strange how natural it is in me
i’m not sure what it will be
in place of the barn - perhaps a skyscraper
instead of a patch of trees and a gently sloping stretch of grass
there may be a patch of clouds - no landscape beneath
i’ll stroll over
place my hands upon the sill
peer downward
and there – a great distance beneath me
- the sea
there’s no knowing

it’s not that I despise my plot in life
i’m content enough
i take great pleasure in my barn
as well as it’s inhabitants
i never tire of our tree patch
i’ve never cared too much for skyscrapers
but all the same
now & again
for reasons beyond me
wham