Sur’reality

COMA

Your spirit

Your mind

Yourself

Transcends mortally within

Yet not mortality without

To stay grounded

For life to shed.

A usefulness that cannot be understood,

As unconscience tethers unconscious

Or other way around

To multiply zero with itself

As it will become plural

Forget their value

Yet added to themselves

They’re not even singular

To dodge immortality.

And infinity’s too material

To have time and place

In question.

They always exist

Not to mind existence.

Usefulness is mortal

Time is mortal.

Slow glimpse as eyes close proves

A wake to an alien place.

Moans and screams

With smells of coffee and ammonia

Long light bulbs hum, blink, and flicker.

A lit door crack moves on the floor

With tennis-shoe squeak shadows

And eyes swell.

1

Angelic

“Other side, bloody-turd leg,” the black-hat airborne instructor yells at the Lieutenant, “Take charge, nobody else does.”

"Take charge, Schultz," the Lieutenant says to himself. Sumn done day-in, day-out, no matter the place or mess.

"Take charge! Make sure you keep on a side and get rid . . . eye infect . . ," he blinks at his clock with the ongoing worry that his troops gathered already, "5:16, you’ve gone more . . . Days with nix sleep, leg.”

Oh Carl come here, she whispers into his ear while he drowses.

“Don’t leg, all you do is make yourself worse. Get your cute leg ass down and go after Beijing!,” the settled consciousness vanishes, and gives room to a drum roll of horrid voices, “So you think you got it bad, huh leg. You got it easy since you’re a stick leader and a high-class infantry offsir. I even seen you with a shotgun Hemingway book at the chow hall before a few pushups. If you think he ends sad you hadn’t worked yet, come here Sergeant.”

“Sergeant . . . Sergeant?! Come look here,” the black-hat instructor screams in delight, as he gets others to gather.

“See them? Kiss some more earth, leg,” loudly drawls the black-hat, inches from the Lieutenant’s face, once Schultz recovers from pushups.

“Wait ain’t those air assault wings on your garb, Schultz?,” the black-hat screams while he notes in humor, the hard earned badge on the Lieutenant’s chest.

“And ain’t it so cute, Sarnt? . . Precious on him, I noted that pop-top on sweet’s garb back in ground week,” yet one more black-hat chimes in to scream at the wing sight over a week ago.

Ooh yes, Carl, she erotically exclaims, to signal fruition.

“So because you’re a offsir who slides down ropes out of choppers you’re better, huh leg. All I can say is you ain’t seen a damn thing yet, leg on a rope. You’re sorry? All of us could have told you that, non-airborne turd,” the black-hat states in eloquence, “It looks like you want to be down here all damn day, huh dope on a rope.”

“I didn’t say you could get up yet,” the black-hat screams, ready to make Schultz roll over to begin a leg-lift routine, “Member that car wreck, hung out to dry leg?”

“Hurts doen’t it? Good if not you would swim somewhere too,” the black-hat tries to show crux of sumn, other than a P.L.F. and pushups.

“I sure in hell won’t be here six damn months but I’ll try more to put you in nuther li’l coma. And I’ll lean down to tell you this in your real cute speak. Damn, you gotta perty mouth. ”

“We’ll be back just for your dear li’l roped dope ass,” the black-hat whines.

"Wake-up, we’re almost there," Carl leans over, as he keeps his eyes on the road to smell her fragrance.

Where are we, Carl?, she angelically murmurs in response to Carl’s statement.

"Is this a trick question?," Carl responds in jest.

Huh?, more awake than Carl realizes, she tests his faculty on this rural drive.

"Sh . . . scuse me, I had to say that. I think the dern espresso crashes," Carl admits to be tired, since he just got back from his field duty, a few hours before.

Trees, so many trees, it looks like we’ve gone deeper in the woods, she says, after the mere glance through the windshield

"Prob . . . heck, I’ll stop here and knock it out," Carl answers, with the satirical delve into semantics.

I thought we were going to wait until Cades Cove, to get in the woods, she says sensuously, as she giggles a tone that challenges.

“Well, that depends on you, I guess,” Carl says, as he thinks wholly that most depends on her, at this point.

Since it sounds like you get a little froggy, how far away are we from Cades Cove?, she asks with a subject change, while she keeps a smile.

“We’ve got a few minutes before we pass the Tennessee line, about a hundred k.’s, then forty or so after that,” Carl says just as he realizes, that things should be in miles rather than kilometers.

I still don’t understand why we left so early, or was it so late?, she questions, as she puts him in a trance rather than proclaiming, that he is early.

“Je croit que c’est la guerre froide, but once you see and smell a sunrise on the mountains, I think you’ll understand,” he thinks that he talks of the cold war properly, in French.

Well, since that stuff is Greek, all I can say is Olympus is hard to beat, she says, that causes him to stare at the pure magnificence.

Looking up with a smile, she peeks thru the shattered windshield again, which is now in the direction of road side, as a wailing German Polizei auto-sedan blips around the curve. While the rain fades, the police and hearse finally see remnants of a car and corpse in the woods. She flutters away, and leaves him to flounder, in his chagrin.