Persistent Dreams

I’m a man of persistent dreams
part of my undermind trying to tell me something
some archetypal architecture race-memory collective unconsciousness
because I know my dreams are not unique
down past all the layers conscious subconscious unconscious
or translated through an ancient savannah animal
like all humans evolved from
forever asleep now but powerful for dreaming
creating worlds it thinks could never be
but are

there is the dream where I’m in a strange city
it doesn’t matter who I am
sometimes alone sometimes with family with friends
I never see who chases me
don’t ever puzzle the why
am never caught
despite the occasional crash or shootout
deathflowers in the night
significant slide as the backend scoots out around a corner
stairways that lead to obsidian doors
dark spaces smelling of mineral dust but no human inhabitants
then back into night air or day
a fresh expanse to move through

there is the dream about the xenomorph from the movies
green angular jaw within jaw slavering goo
it is most definitely after me
though once identified it fades
or it will make a walkon into a dream
a light switches off in a crowded room or starts blinking
a whole crowd dancing except me
I see this construction of tubes and sharp ends
slave to an unseen queen like me
and if it goes out and kills
or goes out and brings back live prey to propagate its species
then so do I

there is the dream of falling
short and sweet
just falling
just that sensation
never feet down like falling through a trap door
always from my spine
like a backward swan dive that never resolves

there is the dream of being back at school
a test untaken
a subject neglected
some sort of linguistic thing I have forsaken for my secondary love
tonguing English only after I’ve thoroughly tongued myself
a big cat basking in the density of its own beloved odors
this dream is always lengthy
a suggestion of weeks passing
missing the bus
being baffled by changes in the old neighborhood
businesses torn down for faceless townhouses
alleys kinking like varicose veins
my inner editor desperately trying to hold onto those six blocks
that looping track I walked for years delivering newspapers
pebbled streets and mudpuddles rimed with brittle ice
strange residential flotsam of rundown wristwatches
partially wadded panties that lie about the day of the week
the day of the test always arrives
I know I don’t know what I need to know
but often I know enough to wake myself up

there is the dream of nudity
again sometimes in school
proud and pantsless
sometimes in a meeting
or walking into a room full of business colleagues
realizing my nudity doesn’t end the dream
no one joins me being naked
no orgies no awkwardness
just me wishing I’d worn clothes

there is the dream of the end
the proceedings before are always unseen
an inkling of variations on the mundane
ordinary actions
folding sheets
thinking about mowing the lawn
a warm sun in a cloud dappled sky
underpinned with future anxieties
illness and insolvency
family and friends disappearing
ending up a ward of the state
in a body run to ruin
always alone in these ordinary ruminations
then the distant flash
nuclear bright penetrating everything
and all the uncertainty ends
followed by the realization that all I need in the end
is one simple thing
yet every time I wake up before learning what that one thing is

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a poet from Seattle Washington USA. His poetry has appeared in print in publications such as Bellowing Ark, Point Nopoint, and most recently in Contraposition magazine. When not writing poetry he is a Human Resources professional, a repentant glutton, and a novelist specializing in the weird-fiction genre.
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