OLD PAINT AND DREAMS OF TATTOOS

somewhere in the flatlands of Iowa

was a crop of mountains with a faded prism of colors

reflecting the twisted moon from their peaks

a sunburned pig traced their sharp outlines

in the calm lake waters at their base

as it rooted for food

stick men fought with each other

and their anger turned their beards gray and bristly

with folded arms they stood face to face

neither one giving in to the other

in the distance was a forest of naked trees

with streaks of white moonlight

resting on their barren branches

I heard the shriek of a toothless old ghoul

vibrating from the tree trunks

behind the forest was a man wearing a leather face,

a ghost, and a bird the color of blood and piss

flittering drunkenly through the trees

people sat in the sand having picnics

splashing in the waters that glowed in iridescent green

the water was warm, thick and heavy with salt

it was all something of a circus dream

but how could one dream of a place they have never been?