Over the years I've done my writing on several generations of computers. The problem with that is updating the file types to be read on the new machine with all its updated software. I'm experiencing that again as I struggle to open old files, some created in the 90s, with the Office software that "Ajay" loaded when he fixed my computer a few weeks ago. It's a mild nightmare to say the least.
A few of the files are opening, but only a few, probably some that I updated to new formats recently. Speaking of nightmares, here's a poem I wrote pre-2000 after having a terrible nightmare. It's a far cry from what I usually publish here, and for that reason, just the thing to publish.
Welcome to my nightmare just down this marble step.
In a niche behind this wall are piled clowns and dolls.
A cobweb spans that other alcove like dusty tiffany,
concealing silences that devils dare not break.
Notice the brigands brandishing sunset-lit torches
guarding the exit? Vultures guard the thieves.
Here, an auburn-haired Mnemosyne robed in steel
screams for pearls and blood and leans over an ebony cradle.
Behind this iron door, an endless corridor. Its end,
a fire burning whispers and old grimoires, around which a feast
of dirt and bone is spread on the Mensa Sacra.
Saved from eating the King's first fruit we now rise
on a titanic raven to a topaz moon where stinging nettles
wend in chiaroscuric craters and hyenas harvest
ten thousand pricks a night, saving them for little heroes.
Wandering, we arrive at a windowless wall stretching into winter
where a famished Queen sways in her chair at a wheel,
nervously brushing spiders from her hair and spins glass
from bits of mirror strewn at her naked feet.
Warring cardinals declare morning on the lawn
as our visit falls away like cherry petals in late spring.
Padding past the barren nursery at dawn
on oddly pained soles we imagine a dusty wind
rustles the faded wallroses and sighs advice,
but we've had enough of visions and hurry on.