Last night I had a silly dream. I was in a tent at a carnival and the woman across the table held my hand so dear, looked into my eyes and said, “Today you will go to a meeting that will save your life.” I thanked her and left full of anticipation. When I awoke, I was filled with the same strong sensation. I rose, washed and left for the meeting with anticipation. I paid close attention to the coffee maker, those setting up chairs with me, and the newcomer. I listened carefully to the speakers and the sound of the group’s voice closing in prayer. Nothing out of the ordinary happened… other than my realization that every meeting saves my life.
Believe in contradiction.
I put myself on the auction block
and wait to see how high a rate
I will have to pay to become slave to my illusions.
I have worked so ardently to free myself
from past enslavements and here I stand naked on this block,
selling myself and hoping I will fetch a price.
Poisonous pedagogy is atomized, contained in every breath,
I don’t know how to live apart from it
and thus I stand waiting to be bought.
It no longer matters how I got up here the first time
for who cares that slaves enslave.
All that matters is that there seems no safe way off this block
or out of this web, or down this street;
The world seems a bad neighborhood everywhere I turn.
Yet I must admit that standing here affords a view
I would not have if I were buying.
If I am a slave I can have hope of someday being free,
if I am a owner what hope might there be?