Dreams are like

Open the fridge

And catch a glimpse of

A bottle of hot sauce.

Instantly and unexpectedly,

Weight. Gravity.

A flint is sparked

Deep

In the back of my brain,

Layers beneath the part of the head where hair swirls and spurts

upwards from beneath the skull.

A flash.

An instant.

Now gone.

This memory,

I realize,

Does not belong in time.


I dreamed something last night

I created a fiction last night

Whole events unfolded

and tokens, emblems of the corporal dimension

were sprinkled throughout.

That bottle,

a tiny window,

through which

entire worlds lie

made and lost only hours before

by this complex machine I carry around—

that carries me around.


Keep it together please,

When one day

You’re alone and

It happens.

A spark is lit,

And you smile at the confusion of dreams.

Whatever the obscure object—

Whether fireworks

or a photograph of a cat—

Keep it together.

Don’t cry.

Because the memory is there,

And no dream could have spun it.

When it hits you,

You’ll wish you’d been sleeping.

I wish you’d been sleeping.


My friends are few and far between

and scattered

and scarred

and hard to talk to.

Blue clouds float

directionless

aimless

adrift.

My feeble attempts at connection drowned out by

chasms

of space

timing

inadequacy.

They’ve all got lives that they live

on calendar days

And you’ve got nothing but lies that you lazily leave on

the deaf ears of busy worker bees.

Pull up your bootstraps,

But don’t look in the mirror,

Self-indulgent bastard.

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