A Daughter’s Dream is the Weight of A Thousand A-Bombs

She dreamed of lioness
splayed on the hiking trail
fugues of father there
latent ascendency in
those pools of pixels
she chinks with for
photographic arts
the journalist in her
like silver tones in the sky

she’s 19 and wanting
a bigger world, clear
cuts to every corporation
she spends time thinking
about down and out
lives her life with heart
soul mind love sharing

her dad floats in dreams
like some stranger at times
or strange Jungian stage
this lioness left
by marauding male
white face, like Japanese kimono
dreams, the tethering of youth

these Zionist bred academics
wasted pages footnoted
books on the dumbest
generation ever, yammering
sociological babble
the “like” generation
generation me, Facebook
or bust, these unholy middle class
whites, blustery idiotic females
like Hillary, or worse, Hillary
backers, shaming my daughter
her zeal for Bernie even
more elegant than anything
the Vermont democrat
could even put between his ears

this country, killer of real
dreams, the nightmares
of debtors, the inelegance
of usury, these accountants
and Goldman Sachs disinterested
in anything outside of the poisoned
SF, NYC, Chicago, all East Coast
brand, vermin lighting up
my daughter’s world
billboards ticker
taping on their poisoned
heckler toys but she
dances in dream
faces pealing, her father
somewhere on the edge
of corona, the shadows
like glass mirrors

yet the educators
the jailers, the psychologists
all the media mushers
fake people in Hollywood
the singers who hum to the
banks, the books that recriminate
youth, analyze the dreams
turn extra-planetary thoughts
into pathologies
putting youth into grinder
birth canals of genetically modified
mothers, the plastic gonads
the synthetic uterine sacks
sagging from poisons, fathers

my daughter dreams mists
the Celtic bogs
lightning balls crystallizing
her stones, quartz, aquamarine
more meaningful than
these scholars of Talmud
the billionaires of financial
kibbutzim, caring only
for pain – mental anguish
financial collapse, prison
blues, social defects –
my daughter rises, sees
the child in the homeless
toothless, crawling victims
of the dysfunction, touches
lions in dreams
jumps upside down
slaps the living daylights
from demons, old man
this interestingly flawed
man, but she sees, hears,
conjures a million things
better than financial wizards
salesmen of the credit
those foolish titans
of derivatives who see
masses as their marks
scoff at anything inventive
anything contrary to
their Dante’s hell
each level reserved
for the rotting elite
she dreams and dances
with whatever Gypsies
she hopes to breed into
the demons’ apps and smart
phones seeds for cancer
of no dreams, no thinking

how the dream is like a titanium
serpent, electric and magenta
all sculpted to defend her
youth, to slip into the night
strangle the life of any
Trump, the Gates and Dells
the rotten lot of them
Ivy league, floating
into the Supreme Court
all those boards poisoned
by the un-dreamers
murderers on K-Street
suits and syphilis
donors, slag heaps
perverts of Homo
Sapiens, all things
price tagged, even
those dreams, my daughter’s
singularity of focus
the love even in the face
of unbelievers, fallen devils
misshapen whores of
the coin, dollars stuffed
into entrails

the dreams of children
bigger than their
tricky taj mahals
casino capitalism
the paraphernalia
of the prostituting class
my daughter paints
futures like mandalas
against the gray sky
of Dystopian democracy
the bloated bodies
of overt kingpins
frozen worlds
melting into apocalypse
of their oil appetites

my daughter rises
above these Zionist
foreclosing experts
bred from the spineless
leaches, she floats in dreams
holds the clover and heather
lights bonfires
while they count
the stocks
lift their sagging skin
until a dream
in their unholy
is the nightmare of generations
yet borne, but my daughter lifts
above their sooty smoke
clears the light
until dreams are nothing
these academics
MBAs Jurists
are the ashes
after the fire
bones to the wind
locked in dead scriptures
of burdened lies
they call history
where no dreams
sneak into the cracks
of perversions
they call living

Paul Haeder's been a teacher, social worker, newspaperman, environmental activist, and marginalized muckraker, union organizer. Paul's book, Reimagining Sanity: Voices Beyond the Echo Chamber (2016), looks at 10 years (now going on 17 years) of his writing at Dissident Voice. Read his musings at LA Progressive. Read (purchase) his short story collection, Wide Open Eyes: Surfacing from Vietnam now out, published by Cirque Journal. Here's his Amazon page with more published work Amazon. Read other articles by Paul, or visit Paul's website.