The Burning Motel

Previously appeared in Mosaic(spring 1996)
and in Downtown Brooklyn(spring 1997)

I had a dream, herr doktor,
you with the eyes of flame,
I dreamed the red brick motel
where we checked in for our
hour of fire, our assignation,
went up in smoke, kind of a joke,
but in full, livid color, so tell
me what it might mean, the lore
and symbolism of civilization
viewed in imaginary ashes,
black charred bricks enough to
stoke my dreams for many months,
so I would need a field guide
to meanings and expensive chats,
the stained remains of a life--
perhaps that might be it, eh?
Literally, that such couplings
may include burning passion and
inane images to recall, if at all,
at x dollars a session, if I ask
you to explain what I need
to know when I travel or die.

Mary Herbert