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Random Poetry and Dreams
By Reid Baer

What seems like a quaint little house
adorned with oriental genealogy books
and dated pictures and family knick knacks,
in truth is a house of ill repute,
masking everyone’s eyes with a spell
where the ingénue is the biggest
liar of all - so the bad vibes wake me up
and I take my family of three
and return to our small apartment
to deal with a disgruntled wife
and discover a film crew in
my living room claiming that we’re all
making a movie and their last
set up took 38 takes to get it right
and I’ve totally forgotten the last ten days
and I’m in deep debt and blowing up
a van for the insurance money
and still without a distributor
I’m on the floor while everyone sleeps
winding and rewinding dailies
with Woody Allen and Oprah -
funny stuff but too confusing for
a final cut - and I get hamburgers
still warm in a Fed Ex package
from my star, the Queen of Talk TV,
wishing me luck on the project -
so I eat all the meat knowing
it’s going to be a real long while
before the movie is finally ready
for screening – yeah, a very long while
until I’m assuredly done with this pile
of unedited footage and then …
once again … I awake but now …
this time I’m standing up and dealing
with the taste of bile in my mouth.

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