Haunted Passages Poem: “Tangerine Dream” by Michael Sikkema

pack of dogs forms around
glitching cop, begins to glow

children, covered in fruit                                           creep rv lands on the diner roof
pulp, head for the blue vans                                     begins signaling with headlights
parked on high ground

                                                                                                approaching sirens incinerate
                                                                                                all the real crows in tree #5

one cricket stutters
one cricket chants
chrysalis chrysalis                   Tangerine Dream                                           Flat Mountain Ranger
chrysalis chrysalis                                                                                          pauses outside the     
        chrysalis                                                                                                 welcome center
                                                                                                                       thumbs through post
                                                                                                                       cards, watches the
            “it was months we loved                                                                    godspeed float past
            under that luxury moon”

                                                                        you lurch around your room, holding the
      paddle and the knife you woke up with

                                                            Gas Station Lady lets you hide in
                                                            the beer cooler, flirts with fang cop
                                                            as you watch your sutures change color

strung between the street signs                                                         you remember
yards of human hair                                                                            screaming
                                                                                                            in someone else’s
voice as the
translucent cop
                                                                                                            tapped on your
you remember the neon frog                                                             car window
at Croak’s Bar
Tangerine Dream

                                                                                                                   “I was born
The news says that 3-4                                                                               a worm like you”
of the Wholesome Hiker                                                                   
Crew discovered several
burned bodies and your                                                        
wallet in the Squash Tunnel                                                   explain away the roots           
at the eco village                                                                    growing through your shoes
                                                                                                person of interest


                                                            chirrrp chirrpchirrrrp chirrrrrrrrrrp

“damn good squash that”                   shoots pop                             “the first enemy                         
                                                           leaf tips buzz                           is the forest”

you remember shadow figure 1                                             you remember the tow truck
bending shadow figure 2 over the                                         hooked to the godspeed
bumper of a tow truck                                                           motel, the river’s heavy pull
Tangerine Dream                   ripping off siding and
window frames

spray painted high on the diner wall
“beware the creep rv”                                                            a dart pierces Flat Mountain
Ranger’s hand
                                                                                              and distributes the toxin

                                                the toad drone
                                                continues the live feed

tuck those freshly sprouted
leaves up under your hat

hiss of rain rising from the flood                                                                    your coughing fit in                                         the interrogation
                                           room sloshes
Tangerine Dream                               a small toad
and half an amanita
on the table next
to plastic water cup
clouds fill and blow over
exposed streets shine            

tallest cop explains your trouble
to night sky

            all the green all
            the black all the                                                                                  all the green
            red all the green

                                               

                                                            you remember the diner waitress asking
                                                            how you’d eat with that mask on

you remember a chorus of lamb’s quarters
calling you through the parking lot                                                    green face paint                                              smeared
                                                 one jaw key                                        on your hands?
                                                 for all voices   

Tangerine Dream

sight gone then, walking by ear                                 in your front seat, a blowgun             
                                                                                    a bottle of Dickel, lily pads
                                                                                    wake-robin, wake-robin, bloodroot

you wish you could go back
to paying the man to teach you                                                          green face paint
how to talk like everybody                                                                 on the steering                                                wheel?

                                                            the ghillie suit in your trunk
                                                            is covered in mud and blood
                                                            and cum and bbq sauce

Michael Sikkema is a poet. He has a book forthcoming from Trembling Pillow Press, a book forthcoming from Alien Buddha Press, and a chapbook of sound poems and collages fresh out from Low Frequency Press. He enjoys correspondence about owl communication, sound studies, and raising pleasantly feral children at Michael.Sikkema@gmail.com.

Image: healthclubnu.nl

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