Trouble with dreams is they blend into the vague mornings and intoxicated nights. The trouble is remembering to wake enough at night to realize the dream is happening, so there can be some control, or rather, some illusion of control. Trouble with dreams is they come to me at night, with the moon, but not just in the winter. Eventually clouds part and birds chirp, even in the winter, because some realize they can’t fly, even if they can forever sing.
Now I am up at dawn with my hunting cap on. I wish I shot dear, but I have been up all night, and I don’t shoot well. We sit together; you with your blurred face, you are the one who always shows in my dreams. I am faceless, I have never dreamt a conventional mirror. Would you come with me?
I know this friend is not afraid to fly, I have seen her taking trips all the time. Would you come with me if I left right now? I need help lifting the heavy sun into the sky. I ain’t no superman but I can fly at night. Please tell those waiting for the sunrise to please hold on as best they can. We will not forget anything, even if the sun is heavy for superman, we can lift it.
The blended worlds come from somewhere. A fountain. The fountain of words that exist. This is only an attempt to stay sane.
Does that make me crazy? What if I know too much about these dreams, does that make me crazy? I only wish I was different, but I know the waking dreams are much like the sleepy nights. Come on now let us get these souls blessed. I think you are crazy, that your lovers are crazy, just like me. Yet I want to live another life, much like theirs. Since I was little I would pick my dreams from a machine, and maybe I’m crazy, but the dreams are better than the so called truth. I’ll sleep when I die.
