about visions of the mad

A madman and sleeper, seer of a thousand impossible visions, who sees when he imagines. The demon who comes in the first moments of sleep and remains long after waking; the demon he saw, heard, and answers.

 

I know a seagull

I know a seagull. He watches me uncaringly. Sometimes when he flies the sky warms from a restless midnight ink to a delicate warm peach speckled heaven blue. He is overhead now. Hello again, Seagull.

I see only his silhouette. He sees me old, yellow papery skin against starched, white hospital sheets, brain turning watery, back aching. He sees me standing atop the neighbor's woodpile, dressed in Superman pajamas, hands on hips and chest puffed out. Seagull and I, we are lifetime companions now.