The Burning Motel Previously appeared in Mosaic(spring 1996) I had a dream, herr doktor, you with the eyes of flame, I dreamed the red brick motel where we checked in for our hour of fire, our assignation, went up in smoke, kind of a joke, but in full, livid color, so tell me what it might mean, the lore and symbolism of civilization viewed in imaginary ashes, black charred bricks enough to stoke my dreams for many months, so I would need a field guide to meanings and expensive chats, the stained remains of a life-- perhaps that might be it, eh? Literally, that such couplings may include burning passion and inane images to recall, if at all, at x dollars a session, if I ask you to explain what I need to know when I travel or die. Mary Herbert |