Fisher was having one of those dreams where all he could do was sit in a particular spot and look around.
Wonders.
A man with a red cross on his chess beckoned him down off his perch to play chest, insisting he take white.
“Black goes first,” he said after Fisher is seated, promptly sliding a pawn to King 4. Fisher found he was frozen again, unable to protest the rules change. The pieces moved before him against his will. It was over in 13: black triumphs once more. “Boris Spaskey!” he cussed, then imagined a black crow perched on the tombstone of a freshly dug grave. He didn’t dig it. He didn’t!
Objects spread beneath the waters in all sorts of mad ways.
A captain and his trip.
Dorothy at the beginning of both the yellow and red bricked roads. Spinning.
Another dreamer floated nearby, a mermaid.
She was having a slightly different dream where Fisher sat at a red desk and watched several stationary red spots in front of him.
When he moved, they moved (slightly).
It was time to talk to the red brain-heart.
Whom Bee Thee ???
Boris, Bob and Battle of Brains;
Victim of religion, Menorah restrains;
Did Bob dig his very own graves;
Captain’s log and Dorothy’s pains.
Haha! Great poem DL!
Thanks. It’s a poetic expression of my stream of consciousness that your story produced.
– Chessgame: Spassky-Fischer,
– Bob as a Jew hated Jewism,
– his fierce nature might shortened his life
– Star Trek’s captain with Wizard Oz’s Dorothy completed the dream
🙂
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