I awoke dreaming into the same town where my dreams take me in sweet encumbrance, always lonely, pacing or running, to or from, they are the same.

There is a castle there but I rarely go in, because I followed him once, screaming that I could not love him, into a basketball hoop forest, and arenas where the ground is caked with sandy blood.

Another time, I waited tables in a red and yellow diner with no walls, but they fired me for never showing up.  “I am only here every so often,” I tried to explain, “like Pevensies and Michael J Fox.”

The lake once poured forth crocodiles, barely chewing the toes of my howling infants, breaking my mind with biting consistency.

And the hedge maze: cowering trampolines hide there, and rope bridges pass over elegant swamps.

Beyond a chipping playground, red paint and lead nightmares, lies the cave.

I wandered there this time, and upon arriving, felt your presence.  I looked up and breathed.  You had written my name, a thousand times, a thousand ways, a thousand cuts.  I curled up inside your handwriting

like a closed tomb,

like a fragrant ocean,

like a pulsing womb,

like a rocking motion.

29 thoughts on “dream town

  1. My recurring dreams fill one drawer of a card catalogue. At least the themes recur, sometimes the narrative with slight variations. I have dream places I inhabit over and over as well. I wish I could stay in some of them. I’d put in a trampoline.

  2. I have a reoccurring dream that I’m drowning inside a grand piano on a flaming beach. When I was a child, I used to dream I was being crucified upside down by my unborn progeny, laughing, in gala-ball masks. The best novels ever written are dream journals. When I told my school counselor about my dream, he suggested I be put on antipsychotic medication. I think I started the Rx generation…

      1. I suppose. They were excruciatingly realistic; I could feel the nails splinting through my wrist bones with every mallet pound and the laughter still resounds in me when I’m hallucinating…childhood dreams are sacred prophecies.

    1. Thank you. The crocodiles were a particularly nasty nightmare. I’m not sure why I end up exploring this same place over and over in my dreams. It’s nowhere I’ve seen in real life, but it keeps coming back.

      1. I wonder where recurring dreams live in us, and if they are so ingrained into the subconscious we could never rewrite them into an ending, let alone a better one.

        1. I agree. I’ve had many recurring dreams that have come and gone…but none of them have stopped…if that makes sense. There are no endings; sometimes that horrifies and sometimes I yearn for it.

          1. I have one recurring dream from childhood I remember as vividly as if I experienced it last night. Everything in this world turns to glass, or china–we become immobile porcelain figurines on a white-glazed snow. Still gives me a shiver when i think about it.

Love you, too

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