Naming Babies

A dove with olive leaf in between his cheeks flies upon crimson wax; I worry for the document to be lost. Our judge of trivial British intercession is black of darkness. Boom of acoustic hollow depths awakens me from a dream; I am morbidly enchanted by the voice.

"Do you have any idea what you will go through?"

"Will you be there?"

"I shan't..."

"And why not..."

"I'll be dead."

"Then so will we."

Chester is a lost boy; Peter Pan dropped him through a raincloud. I look over his shoulder to see several men in the image of my Beau; this must be a transient self which nightmarishly composes perception. Thaddeus speaks, "you look just like her"; tears fall upon my face as his hands blush my cheeks with unusual warmth. Icicles caress olive eyelids, these appear to be my fingers; he is gasping uncontrollably from loss of breath suffering an unnerving asthma attack.

"Leave me with them..."

Thad is overprotective of me; I question his emotion by pushing him away. Looking down at softened shoulders a shriek sanctifies hues of brilliant blue transcending several branching shades; opening my eyes to burning flesh, "I must be asleep."

A hand reaches out to me, several five fold digits accompany, each different, each an odd uniqueness, none able to lift me to my feet; a face finds me underneath sheathing sorrow.

"We do not mean to startle you."

"I used to believe many of him would be devilish fun."

"Careful what you wish for..."

Tex is editing an audio interference; his face is accentuated by neon blue button dials. Behind him a woman rests upon a doorway; she intrigues my personality however I lack the anthology of maturity for her stance.

Summoned by a blur of metaphysics, I watch Meena defy mystery; surrounded by carcasses of soldiers, I adore a ferocious creation gazing upon me, "we must go soon."

"Enoch, tell us about Moscow."

"Fashion, secrets, familiarity, socialism, fantasy, soma..."

"Come with us."

"Famine, severity, fatigue, shyness, frugality, sadness..."

"We cannot leave without you."

"Here is where you know me."

"We want to know you everywhere."

Diesel describes interdimensional consciousness as the core of sub conscious preliminary response mechanisms, "that's why bats live in caves; they dig the darkness"; his excitement conjures deep concentration for my dragon and his lion. We come to understand bats dream they are each and every one of us; they will be the only ones who understand.

"I will name each of you; will you remember?"

Their sorrowful nods compliment my precognitive forgetfulness.

"We will remember; will you remember?"

My dizzy nod nauseates a vial of brown, width of an artery, shape of an erect member, and dispersing bubbles filled with ant particles.

"Mack..."

"Why?"

"You'll see..."

"For me?"

"Bo...for Bogart..."

Each differentiates a trait influenced by a woman I saw in a mirror before she disappeared.

"Ty...for Tyler..."

"Humphrey..."

"They won't call me Hump will they?"

"Dear Hell, send me a pitchfork so I may finally get horns...."

"Fucking horny god damn ugly bloody big cows that don't go fucking moo! Fucking Texas!"

"Diesel are you going to say that every time we pass by the milk factory?"

"Show me a good looking cow and I'll stop bitching."

Zoomy inspects a bronze calf ordered through Chuck's bodega; she is life size and draped in garlands. Incense sticks are lit in concentric circles we devised from a story book depiction of Vlad The Impaler's final feast.

"Mercy me..."

Chester's arm is faint of fang marks; these are not mine. I laugh as he turns me over into a puddle of blue liquid I sip while he is distracted by infected punctured flesh.

"Why is it white like that?"

"Perishing antibodies....."

"Am I going to die?"

"I hope not."

"You mean it?"

"I sincerely do."

"You would miss me?"

"No.....I just don't want to see you again."

Oompah is preaching inside an apartment I purposely run past; the door swings open, "I saw that," as I trip over a stack of bibles colored red.

"Preston..."

"I like that!"

"Rupert..."

"That's me!"

"Earnest..."

"I hope they call me Ernie."

"Trevor..."

"Okay."

"Vincent..."

"Alright with me."

"Jack..."

"Cool."

"Can you put your hands on my shoulders?"

Thaddeus is a sore red representation of color; the wheel must of recycled him.

"Why?"

"Your hands are cold."

I touch him briefly while he breathes a sigh of hysterical relief.

"Chester hurt my feelings."

My accidental pout enrages him; I watch a bull tussle a checkered cloth to the ground.

Mookie wedged a tract in between the door; on the cover is a black and white picture of a golden cow worshiped by dancing scantily clad history. She joins my side with a mighty cumbersome demeanor as I turn the knob. Zoom and Diesel are wearing grass skirts and coconut cups while circling a bronze bovine; the music is 'Never Gonna Get It,' by En Vogue.

"Art...for Aurthur..."

"Wow...sounds just right."

"Wilbert..."

"Jimmy for James..."

"Peter.....don't ask..."

Thad is triumphantly boisterous of Spaniard tradition; his dark hair must of been licked by a cow.

"Ya'll is motherfucking crazy!"

"They're getting prepared."

"What the fuck they preparing for?"

"Texas is my final resting place; that's where you'll find me."

Tex is positivity and I am the polar opposite of subtraction; Zen is setting a table for our children whose arrival is still uncertain, they are requested of our guest to try an edible nut.

"That's where I got these pecans."

"Butta if you steal Pickle's nuts once more I will put you in that tree!"

That tree is much too far for my eyes to open wide while I laugh for immaturity's sake; acorns are difficult to chew in the presence of royalty.

"How am I supposed to get down from here?"

"The same way you got up there!"

"You tickled me, picked me up, and put me on this branch!"

"Then you can wait until I feel like getting you down. I must tend to our garden."

My chipmunk mates converse this unusual relocated neighbor; one distracts me with an almond while another impishly pulls off my cap. Night welcomes me mysticism as I dream a couple picnicking on the grass.

"We will always be together."

"If they don't stop fighting we will be torn apart."

Thad attempts to comfort me with salt water taffy; tear drops form similar pieces inside his palms.

"Rich...for Richard."

"Hamilton..."

"They're going to call me Hammy huh?

"Gulliver..."

"What is your husband's name?"

"Choose a name for him amongst yourselves....."

None of these men are a likeness except for one; he sits in the shadows of a piped vessel singing a song, this one tremors convulsions of delusional sight and sound, I named him Darrel.

"We got it."

"Yes..."

"Chad."