Asking for Id

One night a bruising vendetta
the next night throbs of guilt,
junk dreams about petty matters
of interest only to a few intimates.
A portion of mind close to non-self
one that functions best in sleep,
wastes precious hours revisiting
old hurts while the earth hurtles
towards the extinction of life itself.

Have I not stirred the mute depths
with images of carnage downloaded
mornings from the internet? Have I not
alarmed myself with ominous texts
furnished by amazon via the noon post?
Why these insipid visitations which
dissipate at the first scent of coffee?
Oh, to dream like Carl Jung of vast
floods on the eve of general strife.

To ready myself for prophecy I jump
into a still pool of unknown depth,
learning to breathe under water.
I walk a shoreline of jagged stone,
for there are talismans bloodied by
others who trod barefoot this way.
The moon rises in place of the sun.
An owl lights on my left shoulder.
At this crossroad many witches died.

Douglas Smith, formerly a teacher of Anthropology at York University, is a homeopathic physician.and author of several books on alternative medicine. It is claimed (although Dissident Voice has no proof of this!) that Doug and his partner grow the best garlic in Haliburton County. Read other articles by Douglas.