Concrete Bride: A Reverie
Dreaming of the perfect wedding.
Part 1
Back to living in a box. Back to wishing it was different. I hear the call through the airwaves out beyond the clouds in the distance;
‘Find me…’
I see thunderstorms outside my studio window as lightning cracks across the sky. I crash on my bed letting chemicals rewire all parts of my mind as my frontal-lobe explores further. Outside there is so much life—, inside there is only grey ash. I walk her streets at night in ever-search of self-gifted curses, like always.
The city becomes my church—, an industrialized nature with permanent smoke gliding across its surface. Her curls cascade down in flowing rivers of taxi cabs and speeding hearses. Her lips part the water and its coastline before swallowing my body’s inner-pulp. My bride’s alive in the electric wires powering our cement sanctuary with trillion-watt bulbs. Through the commotion and constant multi-dimensional regression of self—, I rehear the promise;
‘Find me…’
It flies through the fog like an emotional homing missile. Deep within a dark stare, an inner-spirit slowly points towards me as her eyes whisper, that’s mine.
Above an autumn-rainfall’s freshly soaked asphalt shine the peaks of high-rise rooftops projecting an outline of shapes I’ve never seen before—, eclipsing the laws of mathematics; Divine Geometry.
She’ll appear like a siren in the seas of forgotten memories; Mnemosyne, reawakened. Throughout the moment; a portrait of future potential by way of rising phoenixes wrapped in Oak Street leather jackets.
Sparks will fly off the rails as L-trains thunder down their tracks toward the Loop. Three-inch heels will keep perfect time of our tapered lives through rhythmic-clicks off alleyway-bricks below her stilettoed metronomes. Louder with each step; power sounds of an elegant season will surround us in stereo, ever-guided by the speakers’ bass-driven beats.
We’ll enter our dimly-lit kingdoms and take the two tallest thrones with pulled-patent cushions, like always. Lights of fire-glowing lava will branch off in strange sporadic angles through their glass-shaped cages; all restoring life to the smallest parts of the darkly-painted walls with such class-made patience.
She’ll sit while looking the room over and silently read its vibe.
Part 2
Some dreams I actively seek out in hopes that their hauntings are ever-abstractive and self-implanted deep within the maze of crossed-wire encryptions that maybe—, they might just be real. My chemically-altered lifelong-coma comes with an imagination that remains in a constant state of flux throughout the mixed-media thought-tunnels running on only the highest, if not sharpest—, of stoner frequencies.
I gently slide the tip of my finger across the soft edges of her ankles where sole and topside separate for an entire night and not think twice about going any further. I pin her up against the wall by softly biting pierced-earlobes as jeans ease over paralleled-hips in slowed motions before falling to the floor beneath our bare feet below.
I am both sinner and saint at once.
I feel the cold metal zippers of her open leather jacket repeatedly smack against my chest; the only piece of clothing on either of our bodies as we out-best the breaking of each others’ backs from the Kama Sutraesque-motions upon the same chair for the past hour plus.
Amidst the room; a sensual intuition that turns our two genetic buildups into counter-reactive towers of sexual energy impatiently waits to rip-through by megaphone-amplified moans we’d make certain that the world itself can feel with a diamond’s worth of clarity—, and shine.
Dream-wave expanding;
Two souls of the same sign—, watching all sides as we hear billions of beautiful gunshots blaze through the night sky marking the start of our week-long royal-wedding event—, it’s official.
Her finely stitched bulletproof vest of silken-threaded wires reflects back a past through mastered alchemy of the very Sun’s satin-flowing fire; an ever-beauty bleaching out darkness. Her wreath whispers beginnings of the long-awaited fulfillment under regal soils of a promise stemmed from paralleled-lineages; a potential ever-reaching its markets.
Ancestral aims refined through Cupid’s love-arrows, guided by Heavenly Eagles soaring high above in multi-sphered flashes of future ascendence as she nears Her Most Holy Alter & I Mine.
“The bride has arrived!,” voices out the gathered loved ones through bouts of loud cheering and commenced celebration as the first gleaming pieces of a mile-long motorcade rolls down in leisured convertible movements accented by thumping sounds of pounding subs coming from out the dozens of duffle bag-sized trunks.
Cherry paint-drops sprinkle the ground in Pollock-channeled brushstrokes like the melting lollipops of a humid-conquered Houston Summer from the swerving procession of Princes and Princesses, Kings and Queens—, all sitting atop freshly-coated four-wheeled floats leaving behind midair energy-streams telling the cryptic tales of rival meetings between ivory and burgundy castles through in-rhythm waves set to the chopped and screwed remixes of A$AP and Thugger.
Each backseat—, a temporary council of familial aristocracy. Everything; primped and proper. Nothing left to falter. Festivities thrown in the name of revolutionary suicide-pacts by permanent spotlight-stealing martyrdom.
The centerpiece is pulled by pure-bred quarter horses. The chariot slowly slides into view. She is not an image of mere perfection nor solely radiates the inner-strength of beatific love; no—, The Bride is Beyond Beatrice.
A backdrop of bright blue and red bursts merged through golden lava-filled fireworks light up the dark sky behind the dual-airing dynasties accepting their celestial roles, taking up eternal thrones; setting the stage to a sacred joining of ancient bloodlines with unresolved mysteries that remain in play as the plot continues to thicken. Forever searching for the exact point in our shared dreaming that put into motion the metaphoric split-off and the exact point that it’d re-found itself further down below watching their shapes realign in real time into the symbols of an ever-monarch’s permanent shine; like always—, river; re-merged.
Then I wake up.