Departed trail & Bitter trials.

English 26 6-9-16

Every Night has a praying expectation, that sleep would be a slowing sign to: a happily, blissfully,and a normally normal thing that sleep is thought off and prayed for. Round and round the tunnel rows to send the dreamer away and around the mind until the dreams end. Yet there is certainly no showing of the rowing tunnels that toss a dreamer around into a mother’s kitchen to what you have unknowingly eaten. Popping as a kitchen serving, is  a choice deli of imagination and wonder in a meat soup; because they are an IQ vibe  with a Tuesday special sticker. Scary movies have horror grims that  reap; and, there are signs of a reaping coming to those who happen to eat bad meat.

The cheap sticker prices are singing that worms are growing, bellies are forefoot moaning because you chew on sticker meat. Your mother will hear you crying and her care for you will be fast on your bedside, faster on the phone dial to 911, faster faster on her own heart that worries for you and no earthly thing would help her in knowing you would be well, and the faster speeds will be reached when you head to hope;  because this is what happens when you eat bad meat before you go to sleep. A hurricane path will have the cars part as you barrel across the North Long Beach streets with the glowing metal alarm that you take to doctors. The blue medics in your metal ride will be looking for what way your life is flowing but you believe that a snow ball size ice cube can solve the hot pain; clearly your insides are red and burning because the light in your faces is sparkling red. The flowing river is down right when it is supposed to be upright like rain and hail flying home instead of visiting your city when it is cold.

Your life will be going down the rowing unknowns inside your head, this is what happens when you eat bad meat. Round and round the tunnel is meant to row and send you away and around your mind until you wake up. But you can’t help to hear a Czech Republic pronunciation of your name “Andrew Sonnnn … yo?” At the ready flag of a pace car is your mother whirling a turn of her head to enlisted breathes from a rubber wind that bounces back and forth as her mat of teeth speaks so fast about you:

“Sonnyo. His my son and his stomach hurts. He was sleeping and I heard him and I couldn’t wake him up. Please. Please, I want him to be safe and okay. He’s my sunny.”

“We will do what we can,” the attending nurses give a compassionate relief because she is a woman and would have an instinct to take care of you as your mother wishes.

To any mother’s explanations to saving their sons, your mother didnt without tears. The sounds of voices tell you that you suddenly, with you knowing, had arrived at a hospital where the nurses tell a doctor about your Filipino boy body that is twisting into a 9 when you are 12 years old. A glance at the room if you weren’t in too much pain to see your emergency room neighbors. showed he could be wrong. A man who was as Latin and well-kept as his lover cheating beard but you couldn’t know that his reason was of a blue pill that shows in his talk to not seat down; his modified  wife tells him it is for his own good and the young girl, that is not their daughter but is the reason for blue refreshment, also agrees. There are two ebony hotties in the latin man’s first objective thought, as he stares across the room to see these hotty neighbors of yours; they have the drunk fight results that need repair. There is a white pimple skin shaker that speaks in unsilent radio ways that he is in false pain. When you are in real pain, you won’t see him again because security will ask him to leave because he is a bad man that likes feeling numb and having fun.

There is a shaggy red haired toepa on one man, that some doctors can assume from his broadcasting look, forgot the reason he is at the hospital. Those are your roommates when you eat bad meat before you sleep and end up in the emergency room late at night, they all hear your crying and pray you find resolve to your tantrum. The only good doctor is only good with spines, so he can make your 9 shape into a flat one but it still won’t fix your stomach like mommy wants for you. But into the rounds of fighting and cases by a doctor’s wrestling with a long day at work, the one good doctor can still make you have a nice dream with his syringe.

“Hang in there son, dream of open lavender fields and playful kittens,” was whispered by your spinal doctor as he gave you your medicine.

Out of every night, your mother prys for an expectation, that sleep would be quick and happy when you are in such pain, blissfully when your belly is against you,and a normally normal thing that sleep is when she kisses you goodnight. Yet there is certainly no showing of the rowing tunnels turning that a dreamer syringe has tossed you into the lavender fields that the doctor wants for you. Also there’s no knowing of the kitten servings that will be nice to you when you have eaten a special bowl of meat soup. There is an IQ vibration to the special shot of good liquored wines that have no bubbles to take into your head as you sleep. Round and round the tunnel rows and this time sends the dreamer away and around the mind until you wake up.

The signs of red on your face and your 9 turn to a 2 in shape and pain, as the reaping drugs came like some rabbit gravity that lifts up each foot of pain so it can fall away. It’s a nice twist of a hair from the clocks that lets the later hours rest. This the real life that fantasy lives with, caught in a poor landslide sympathy that keeps the wind blowing. This makes its own ride in a Long Beach hospital emergency room. Even with the glowing metal alarms of others arriving as your neighbors, the behavior of silhouetto emotions for you to read with a skure spade, the sight of Kevin Burns’s elephants make you less than a third thought. You can sleep about caterpillars practicing the pages they ate and now see if they can turn a quick change to fly.

Blue men appear with their pulling hands that drags by  you some dying moths and your dream is getting so strange that it speaks of the unraveling sight that reaches you because you ate bad meat in a soup bowl. The aroma of that bowl in your memory flows in like a scent in this dream that softly calls but turns to nothing as new fingers appear on its perfect hues; such fingers eat and add to your bad meat dream that mixes with medicine resolve. The way your dream looks, there is a flowing mess that you adore on the electric chemicals that leaves the wind blowing in your filipino head; many hungry patients enjoy themselves because you’re not moaning. Your mother doesn’t own the threads of angels nor their hollow honeycomb lifts but she still rests by your bedside. She still calls for help to see if things are getting better then what she sees; also she still has her heart worrying about your health.

The speed of the hospital seems to make the miles length to Las Vegas; as they begin to move 300 miles per hour with their work ignoring you. Your childhood thoughts begin to play out the hungry thirst for foods like sugar ice cream vegetables, salad mixes with three jelly beans, and tomatoes that are actually mangos bathed in chili powder. Chewing camels come out the dark on carton crayons that taste like honeydew and caterpillar truths, they hold smoky shapes. You take  two bites of pepsi coke in a laughing drama because you’re okay in your head. Things are as sensible as wearing unclean underwear. But like childhood and a dream, it all goes away like a flash just when you begin to make sense of what you see.

It settles down like elephant trunks finishing their bath, spraying out a roar of dancing water rainbows. Porky pig guards clamp their hoof grip on your body to stay because they just appeared in your head and needed a reason to stay. The last eyelash raises and things begin to fade when things take shape. The jellyfish lighting drips away like the honey treat that it is, fading into a phantom laughter at what is now displaced. Pillow ivy creeps back to the realm of still dreams, that has 3 way gifts and wishes so you can awake unskathed.

First, the round and round tunnel has rowed and sent the dreamer away and around, to finally wake up happy. Next to the resolve to your mother’s heart. And finally feel okay. This is what you wake up from, when you eat bad meat before you sleep. Blinking over what you see: doctors run around with nurses by them for the next patient calls, your crying mother, and you in  your pjs. With a tilt to your head, looking shocked, dazed, and confused. Last night ends with sunny waking up to a day that starts just like the titles of foreign Sundance movies that end with fin.