Yellow bell alarm clock/ toasto.com
Living deep inside an Ozark forest it sometimes seems as if I have slipped down the rabbit hole. This dream turned poem attempts to describe that feeling. The unnamed poet's actions are real.
At the edge of dreaming by Sara Firman Nov. 2012
at the edge of dreaming a crack of realization struck
like a bell, like a tree breaking
out in the half-dark forest
no warning but I knew exactly why
the poet had purchased
a box of old-fashioned alarm clocks
to perch perversely
among the upturned roots of storms
he knew that time stopped here
and feared he might be forgotten
that he too would slip down the caverns of karst
charmed by a wadded witch
which is why also he painted
bright stripes along trees turned upside down
and replanted in a circle of protection
he wasn't mad, he knew as I knew
that at least those clocks would mark his passing
the strong colors shout his dreams
...
