soup of dreams

i can imagine i am loved
and feel that golden glow
expansive and mercurial
languid upon the waters

and i can imagine that i am unloved
and slip through this life
unseen, unknown
through all the tumult of affairs

and feel that cold contraction
in the belly of darkness
as i am lost, alone, forever
feeling my way through the catacombs

but i notice that neither story
changes at all
that which actually IS
so when i stop imagining
my body has no recipe for feelings
only confusion as fear arises nonetheless
boiling from interminable deeps
and clotting like blood upon the water

but soon, through boredom perhaps
the storm recedes, subsides
into a gentle simmer
an intoxicating brew
gently lapping the shores of eternity

and that is the seduction
the undertow of intoxication
becomes yet another story
another plot-line
to whorl about the maypole of self
ribbons all a-streaming
in celebration
of this hearty
soup of dreams