Sprinters and Sphinx

Dreamed 2009/11/13 by Wayan

1: SPRINTERS
You know the game! Flea over this fourlane carhonk artery. Your rivals? Mad hoppy men (women won't die for prizes). I dunno what you win, But then, neither the locals do. Not since the new silver diving team. Their helmetheads are ice. Belljars crazed as autoglass; translucent hints of face. Seeing out's as hard as seeing in; and their frostblindicap charms the judges even more. But I suspect a somehow cheat. Ice hides their eyes. Who's in there? Ha! Two thaw the headrime, to climb the podium for gold and silver medal. Bearded little smirking squirts. Oh, they fixed it, though I dunno how. They peel at last those wrinkled pressure suits. Eww! Inside, no human skin. Flesh transparent through and through. Men of glass alive, or silicon gel. Faces mere masks. Their icy flesh, synthetic, fast, is their Olympic edge--not heart, not skill.
2: I LOVE THE SPHINX
I fear peer-pressure now--upgrade us all to high-performance ice. I seek my wise friend the Sphinx. Frozen she already? But I love her as is! Can't bear to lose the warm of rough fur, see umber wingplumes turn pale and winterfloe! A cat of snow austere. I wander the crowd shouting "Sphiiiiinx!" Dawns with a shock that I've never known my old friend's true name. Has she got one, Need one? She's the Sphinx after all, not a. Unique. Surely a term for you alone's most personal and namish. Still Would she treasure one or two-three true names proffered by a beloved? And fear proves I love. I cried to my hawk-mate: no mere Amity; it's amour. When will I confess to her? For if I don't, how can she say I do?