Sandman Express III

Read Part I and Part II of “Sandman Express.”

III.

now, it is time i direct your attention 
to the twilight of my fantasy, a scene
that begins with the skin of a tangerine,
a poison green snail, and my hopes of 
finding an old desert paradise, that
tequila-covered oasis made of 
sun and hay, sinking faster than a 
	belladonna sunset 

we rolled along with the Sandman,
that lion-eyed prophet and i, passing trains 
and counting hippos while we blazed across
a frontier full of swamps and moonshine, 
he was singing “Suite: Judy Blues Eyes”
as the sky turned gold and the rain fell like 
	a dozen tangled stars
we must’ve been a galaxy apart on the
land side of the Sandman Express
sharing a cupful of peanuts 
and a rusty old apple

when just then there was a flash—of what i
cannot determine—but a light like a smashing bullet
blew up the sky into a 
	white
		garden
			holographic moon
hold on, says the man, and we grit our teeth 
on the flesh of the morning 
like two tin can soldiers marching straight 
through the arms of our destiny
as that old train 
	shot a rainbow  

and in some kind of massive 
shattering bang, the desert had 
turned into jasmine, the sand was clubs and
the trees were aces and all the birds had 
transformed into angels who tunneled the 
	iron 
		seas 
or a hundred angry beetles 
who clung to the side of a mountain
that tipped like an iceberg
hot from the roof of the sun 

in that moment, before my eyes, the earth inverted 
	like a dark-pointed star

pay attention, says that 
jungle-headed wizard as he floats over to a
monkey with an owl’s face, you’re not stuck
you gotta learn to tear yourself away from 
	time and place
control might be an illusion but 
responsibility isn’t and for as long as you 
keep believing you’re living this life 
shackled to a stone you will be *cracks a hazy 
IPA and swings on a moonbeam like some kind of 
drunken Tarzan* this life’s a free fall and 
there’s nothing for you to hold onto but 
the roots you put down with your own two hands 
now that’s the bare facts as simple as i can tell ‘em 

*grabs my hand and hoists me onto a 
giant turtle with flamingo’s legs*
but you gotta take risks, this life’s a lemon song, 
he says, if you always get what you always wanted 
that’s not living, it’s waiting for the clock to 
	stop ticking

every walk’s a walk of faith, that’s a
sense of knowing that precedes religion
but what you gotta remember is this—you have
to work to preserve your senses—all this life is a 
process of dulling and it will disconnect you 
from yourself if you let it, he says, perching like
a lizard atop an elephant’s ear, that means 
taking charge of all the small things, 'cause that’s 
where your soul sings—but nobody believes that 
these days *pets Sandman on the horn and 
slips on a Jefferson Airplane t-shirt* we are all 
responsible for using our 
creativity to reconstruct our 
	personal experiences
that’s the job of the 
	artist in each of us

by the shape of your eyes, he says, 
	that’s how you 
	cut a diamond

and without another word, that 
bearded hippie shaman took a 
mad sea dive off the 
top of the world like some sort of 
	stolen pig on the wing
in the distance, i was certain, was a
	giant dreamcatcher 
of smoldering sun and hay 

A Word…

For those of you who were following “Sandman Express,” my apologies for the lengthy delay in publishing Part III. If you are interested in reading the full poem (or series of poems), with artwork, it will be available, as it is now, in three separate posts. I do not intend to make the full text available in one document, as with Seven Road, until it’s been properly revised. Thank you for reading.