Consumption and the art of Daikichi Amano
In my dream you have become
a fisherman. You are going fishing
in my sleep.
"Sharks come to light and blood,"
you whisper, as if you have always been
a fisherman. A shark surfaces beside me;
still I cannot stop dreaming.
In your dream I am a bird,
I am trapped inside your house.
I flap my wings, beat on the windows.
"My house has no roof," you say.
Still I cannot get out.
You touch me, very gently.
You want to make me happy.
You say so, over and over.
You want me to stop dreaming.
In your dream I am dead.
You have made sure of that.
Still I am stronger than you
and more confident.
My hand does not tremble as yours does
when you twist, again, the knife.
In my dream you have become an
undertaker. You are siphoning my blood
under a cold light.
"Sharks come to light and blood,"
you whisper, as if you have always been
an undertaker. Still I go on dreaming.
You touch me, very gently.
You want to make me happy.
You want me to stop dreaming.
You say so, over and over.
A shark is swimming towards us;
still, we sleep.
"Stop dreaming," you whisper; he surfaces
beside me.
"Stop dreaming," you shiver; he nudges your
blind windows. The shark has become a bird,
like me. Trapped inside your house we are
flying, flying.
"My house has no roof," you cry,
but the shark, too, is dreaming.
Like me, he does not want to stop dreaming.
He does not want to stop dreaming.
Susan Musgrave
(Tarts and Muggers
McCelland and Stewart Limited,
1982)
