The Wave Organ In this dream that mixes with my reality I ride my fear like a glowing horse, An opaque steed that sends my life crashing forward through the walls of boredom. In this reality that interferes with my dreaming and holds me halfway from sleep I sometimes catch the sound of snapping fingers as if to wake me from my trance. But there is no escape from the ocean, the hypnotic echo of its waves reverberate through non-existent space holding a universe in a half-sleep of constant distraction. The waves of the Pacific lap upon the shores of my subconscious pulled by the body of the moon whose luminous eyes pierce the lonely souls of wolves. I see how these things control her, control me. The rhythm of crest and trough, the ocean snapping time by slapping the rocks, vibrating the earth, filling her bones with ancient music. I see how she dances to the music of her womb, the ocean of her desire, the eternal wet rhythm of her sex. The Pacific lives in her like an erection constantly stroking her body into a vibrant flame, the moon rides her like a rapist clutching her beauty to him like a thief. She dances through worlds I can not see and can not hear to rhythms that can not be resisted. I see how she is trapped on her feet which are slaves to a foreign harmony dancing to the slave drum beat of her heart and the syncopated sloshing of her womb.

Damon Wyle

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