In my dream I was lost
unable to tell one street from the nextinside from outthis place was not this placeI think I was myself, but who’s to know
a pair of elephants tucked ‘neath
the foot of my bedas visions of fancyrun through my head
This is a free-write
I’m supposed to be writing about…Jonathon? Gay(I think that’s his first name)And the honour of denyingauthority of the author (he was a satirist)publishers, politics, etc.an interesting concept,but this class bores meI’ll probably continue to dreamabout soupinstead of “The Art of Walking”
you told me that my voice would be heard
and though I have no belief in prophecies-convincing utterances-your assurance is appreciated.it’s been a long time since mywaking dreams have beenfantasticwonderfulhopefulI have so little of thatso, regardless of your intentions,thanks,it helped.Why did those words help?Or, the real question,why do your words help?is it our agreed temporality?(facades still impress upon us)is it your conviction?(say anything convincingly […]
In my dream I could paint
the consequence more illustriousthan the originala glorious magnificent representation even I was shocked at theprecision of my depiction why was it youI chose to showmy fantastic achievement tois lost in my subconscious the circinate strokes were blacksurrounding a nucleic absenceset against an ominous backdrop I don’t knowwhy you were thereor whether you caredI don’t know […]
In my dreams I could draw
Isolation is unachievable
Isolation is unavoidableIf you remove yourself from a placeyou are not therebut you are alwayshereif you are standing on a rooftopand your alarm clock goes offdo you wake down? I want to feel foreign fabricsI want to obliterateI want to preserveI want to be able to seeeverythingwhen I close my eyes I hope I feeleverythingwhen […]
I woke up with you in my head
Self Indulgence
traces of old loverscomposed unintentionallyin dreams,inadvertentlyin strangers faces.They are not here;no tracesno smell no tastecannot feel them cannot heartheir voice;so what is this thatlingers? Myeyesdo notbut apparentlyIcansee them.See what?Memory—so unreliablecomposes subjectivereferenceshistories.Recall what once was,whether you care toor not.The mind’s eye never blinks.It’s symphonies,though composed by us,are impossible for us to understand,and leave us with retrospective […]
