This Is How The World Ends In My Dream

“Dream is the personalized myth, myth the depersonalized dream: both myth and dream are symbolic in the same general way of the dynamics of the psyche.”

– Joseph Campbell 








This is how the world ends: 

quantum overlap bleeding

black holes & liquid lights –

comets & supernovas sing

isotopic interference fringe:

“Carcass of cosmic gestalt!” 



This is how the world ends: 

in apocalyptic night clubs –

bluebottled March hares pulling

fast ones on the mercenaries:

“Yellow wax & blackened veins!” –

“Colonel is a mottled corpse!”



This is how the world ends:                                           

space-time maggots homing in

on planets Soul & Carrion –  

flesh-eating orchids

spit spider venom:

Milk the arachnids of kindness!”



This is how the worlds end:                                   

             riding the subway:                                  

             a line w/out stops –                            

             & going round in circles

& circles circle circles –

“Subway never stop! Never stop”









The Cure – Jumping Someone Else’s Train (1980)


Peter Bies © 2013





Morning Blossoms

For the essence of time is flux, dissolution of the momentarily existent, and the essence of life is time.”

–  John Campbell 







I could’ve found a trapdoor            

& unplug your soul pins in             

my favorite hour/ of slurred            

whispers/ hard progress &            

flush feeling/ it disappears            

because of these here 1 eyed             


boys on bicycles pass in lush            

innocence two bees drowning             

forever in lucid amber time/              

loose mood of now is best &            

a blood-dimmed past a valid            

background to hang on to a lie –            


dead the morning blossoms/            

misty drop zone mood & ages            

dead all twisted nerves &            

catatonia dream-like fair/             

dead the moldy tribal bones            

& all our research parched            

& dead & dead & dead & dead    













Weather Report – One (1971) 


Peter Bies © 2013



After André Breton

“Surrealism will usher you into death, which is a secret society. It will glove your hand, burying therein the profound M with which the word Memory begins.”

– André Breton, Manifesto of Surrealism (1924) 







this winter        

the crows are mute        

their feathers        

are of lead        

a bloated moon        

is draped         

in cardboard clouds        


I am         

indifferent as concrete        

I am         

indifferent as asphalt        

I am         

stuck, inert & moving        

I am         

a statistical paradox        


the spark        

is elsewhere        

this winter        













Boris Karloff & Bela Lugosi in Edgar G. Ulmer’s The Black Cat (1934)


Peter Bies © 2013