Monday, January 11, 2010

Everywhere it seems there are ghosts

Trying something different today. I've been keeping a dream journal for the past month or so and I've taken one or two lines from each dream, rearranged them and created a new dream below. Not sure if it's a poem or a cross-genre something-or-other, but here it is:

Last night I dreamed of a winter place
A beautiful cold lake surrounded by tall pines
Some kid in a picture I’d never seen
But it wasn’t me
I run through a maze of buildings
I pass houses that have too many rooms and not enough windows
Digging through my bag for something to wear, I change naked in an abandoned doorway
People gathering inside but first I want to see the storm clouds
Stash my keys by a tree in the rain
The cold lingers
The shacks are shells only
The table is full of dishes but I don’t recall food
A lot of people were there following me around
In a house with too many other people, strangers
Different creatures with different needs
So go, I tell him
Everywhere it seems there are ghosts
Chairs that move themselves
Spooky messages on a typewriter
Younger girls I don’t know are trying to sleep on the floor
We are all tired and fall asleep amid the chaos
Mermaids come back from the sea in various states of decay
Something haunted them, they cannot speak
Bodies underneath the surface
We’d been driving over them all this time
I bought a classic Mustang that needed paint
The cop tells me to drive from the front seat
Police on horses run by
Saving Grandma from wolves but they like pepper spray
I tell her that there’s a training program to put her Bassett hound in the FBI
She says I must choose
The beautiful boarded up houses that stand in a clearing
A next door neighbor who’s lost her mind
Slipping on bodies under a giant sleeping bag
Skeletons buried in the yard
It’s happening for real
Killer in the room
Gristle and blood
A few of us have escaped
Trying to get everyone out but people going in instead, long lines of them
I yell at them to leave
Pieces of my ear tear off easily
Nothing burns down
I decide there’s a better course of action
I buckle in for a landing that’s really a takeoff
I turn over and over in the air and then I see the bird
Fear of falling causes me to carry the banister with me
I wait in line to report the problem
Men in suits want something from me
They’ve been stuck on the planet for a while now
A girl and a cowboy are the only other ones who wait until the last minute
We’re moving on; there’s not much time
The guitarist opens his case, plays a familiar tune
It feels right to dance, like I should’ve been doing it all along


Anonymous said...
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svojoh said...

Stumbled on your blog as I was on ThomG's (he's my old school pal) love this. I enjoy reading your blog! I'll be back.