When I look out my window, what do I see?
When I look from my doorway, what do I see?
When I look down my street, what do I see?
When I look across my town and country, what do I see?
When I look beyond my shores, what do I see?
I see the front curtains inside my house.
I see the sidewalk dividing my yard.
I see trees and houses and cars down the hill.
I see coasts and plains and mountains and tribes.
I see "the other" and meet myself there again.
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Taliban Narcolepsy
Narcolepsy is a chronic, life-long condition typical of frozen time. This sleep disorder lures infidels into 15th Century mountainous terrain. Insurgents, cloaked so as to conceal their identity, videotape their captives begging for mercy, then bargain for their release. In states of psychic hegemony, invading forces use satellite technology to target rebel cell phones. Text messaging produces collateral damage. A maze of caves swallows foreign hostages with concussions from heat-seeking missiles.
Taliban women are too beautiful ever to be seen in public. Mullahs like magnets bend toward Mecca and humble themselves in prayer five times a day. This is how they avoid the fate of those imperialists who black out from unplanned, sudden sleep attacks by suicide bombers. Counter-intelligence profilers suffering from insomnia identify these men by their unshaven beards. The wealthiest among extremists unroll the most frayed prayer rugs. Eating light or vegetarian meals during the day and avoiding kite flying or heavy meals before important activities help keep their animosity alert. Their primary crop is opium for heroin, which they sell to enslave the youth of the Great Satan and its allies, who still believe in television and playing with pigeons.
There is no known cure for such waking hallucinations. Armies from all nations have perished attempting to conquer this territorial nightmare. Dreaming continues even after the head has been chopped off. No one has ever returned to say otherwise.
[Disposable Prose Poem October 21, 2009]
Dr. Mike
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