Thursdays
Procedure In The Cave Of Forgotten Dreams
The faint Syrian accent melts away under Diprivan
rising to the ceiling in a smoky double helix
my doctor abruptly rendered German
in manner, his mien
serious yet genial
unmistakable signs of
drug induced transformation
into Werner Herzog
topped in yellow hard hat
Petzl lamp beam drilling a hole
through absolute darkness,
leading me through Chauvet Cave
sweating walls
crawling with horse-like creatures
rendered in blood and ochre
bison and what looks to be
a sabre toothed tiger
in a collage of stone age hand prints
inviting a touch
my tentative hand stilled in midair
with a withering look from Werner
humming softly to himself
reeling the flexible tube
from that cloistered pucker
his features reassembling in the twilight
peeling gloved hands
arching an eyebrow
when I ask for his views on the state of German cinema.
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