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Dog in a Cassock

Dreamed 1972/2/3 by Chris Wayan

A friend brewed a liquor from the flavor-
essence of my mom's lurid paintings. She
loves fierce color, and all that vivid ichor
to a lovely drink distilled. Chilled.

Then the Criminal Genius flashes by,
aborting a job gone bad. His hapless thugs
merited no hugs. Relentless Hound bounds
by in hot pursuit. Fur suit.

The thief leaps over Crystal Springs Lake
over San Andreas Fault, from Pacific Plate
back to America. For cover he now can say
he's a Castaway. A way.

Thief hides neath a bridge. Sees a crooked crack.
Climbs in. Up spider-slow through gullets of stone
out to day. Today.

Right into paws of police! And from
behind detectives, out steps the Hound.
He rears upright in a brown cassock, as if
he's Father Serra on a Mission. Our thief
blinks, light-struck as owls.

The cop beside me announces thus the mutt:
"Chris, meet the President of the United States."
Warily, I say "Mister... President?" And
the brown hound howls.

Painting liqufies, pours into a wineglass. Dog in a brown cassock howls. Sketches of a dream by Wayan. Click to enlarge.

NOTES



LISTS AND LINKS: food & drink - paintings - color - smell & taste - crime - dogs & dog people - hunted! - caves & the underworld - presidential dreams - dream surrealism, humor, poetry, & digital art - juvenilia - Silicon Valley - three more dreams of the San Andreas Fault: No "I", Rift Zone & Surf the San Andreas

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