WITHOUT A MISSION OR A CLUE

WITHOUT A MISSION OR A CLUE(L DOUGLAS ST OURS) WITHOUT A MISSION OR A CLUE

Another strange dream
in a swift stream of dreams
finds me loitering downtown
twisting in a vision dominated
by the gleaming facetious edifice
skyscraper helopad headquarters
of the company that pays me to report there.

I peek inside
and see security.
in fact I spot
my impeccably tailored
chairman of the board
surrounded by his sycophants
shuffling his penurious papers
apparently stained by a wayward dog.

Suddenly a cathedral bell tolls
and I jump out of my skin
as the suits take notice
and wave to me out on the street
to come on in and worship
in their luxuriously appointed lobby.

And that's when I realize I'm naked.

Humiliated and in a blush over my appearance
I dart past police whistling at snarled traffic
to a building with a sign advertising gentlemen's apparel.

I rush inside
see an elevator
and nothing else
not even a floor directory
so I push the button
and step into the lift
relieved as the closing doors
concealed my exposure.

The elevator lurched skyward
so fast I banged my head on its ceiling
then I started floating around
like a sucker fish in a cramped aquarium.

The shaft as you might have guessed
was actually just another one of those
disguised and seldom used interplanetary rockets.

I was stuck, launched, and unstrapped
on a perplexing pipeline journey
which hurled, dropped, and unfurled me
out there in the dark of space
right smack in the middle of
my very own sweat soaked mattress.

A safe uneventful landing
after a clueless mission.

by L DOUGLAS ST OURS
July 2010