The Left Column
The moonlight on the
The moonlight on the
wallpaper and the wall, and crawling
light of passing cars
    along the wall and the ceiling
      as you lay in your 5 yearold
        bed.
  Middle of the night
    I get water at the stream
  that flows across the ledges
     of my long desk dream
 like a mountainside
   in that giant hall
       way along the antique wall 
      paper
    specially made.

   Many ill
       conceptions
   of lost time ago 
    (with prepositions
       added for their 
        sonorous glow)
  blew their wintergreen breathes
     onto their lover's nape.
  Pull the covers over
        and roll off into a dream
     of that endless hall, the
        wallpaper and the wall,
       the midnight evening call,
 lights that slide along the dark 
         places, the moldings,
     the ceiling, where the
       wall and ceiling join,
      like consciousnesses
       (made by the cars that pass
     by on the street
        in front of the house)
    for a little boys mind to imagine 
                            who they be

  It was folly to try and describe this to you.
   What word-poem drabble will dripple these
      truths across the bib of the dream
        you all left behind . . . 
    that endless hall way that leads to mom and dad.