East of Eden
By Lawrence Carradini

I am sorting out dreams that take
place in sometime when never was,
in old prop planes with cracked vinyl
seat covers lengthed like diner booths,

browned-red worn and landing in the dark
bare boned tree land with split wood fences
where I am sorting out people who never
acted or when acting, never acted

"out" or
"put on" for any-body but themself

aaaaa and
aaaaaaaaaathen

seldom. Though, here Dad wagging, like old
bro says, I no recollection. I am sorting out
wind in my hair and no one there who does
not understand me. For I am sorting out fact

from fiction, non-plussed by it. Plus dreams

of you, naked; me holding you pressed up
against me dressed and then your making
bed next to bed on floor from sheets with
pillows thrown comforter in semi-circle I am

with.
and sorting out dreams

aaaaa of
aaaaaaaayou.