Dream Poem draft
because fuck it, it's better to post something than just ignore my 7 subscribers, right?!
Ok, I guess I only have 6 subscribers cause one of them is me, and 5/6 of the remaining are my closest friends, haha. But perhaps it will not always be so, and since I started this Substack over a year ago with the intention of having an outlet for my writings and getting accustomed to sharing my stuff, I need to keep on, keepin’ on.
I had a dream last night, kinda magic maybe, and I wrote a poem this morning about it. This is a first draft… except that as time goes by I will probably edit THIS actual file. I do have the original saved of course, but if you don’t care for the poem, hey, maybe it will get better. If I finally feel that the poem is nearing it’s final state, I will take the word “draft” out of the title. So without further ado.
the dream was weird, as often dreams are we were in a shamble shack over a pub from the 60s, and all my dead were moving in with me, this apartment above the pub, which was also somehow on a cruise ship eternally bobbing and swaying with the rhythm of the sea I felt good, cause I got to see them at least, but in hindsight I always regret dreams being business as usual when there is so much to say in the years since they died there's my granny, my mom, my stepdad, my BFF (not dead), and my daughter, also not dead, but strangely again a small child Mostly oddly undead but estranged friends from Uni also mill about, though I'm not sure why they're here at all but they are helping, as we are sorting through boxes of hoard, my mother's my granny's my own, trying to turn this apartment shack into space for all of us to live together, impossible really, but we're trying So much to catch up on, but instead everyone just acts according to their nature at least as I see them, my mom putters and tries to convince me as to why they need my bigger bedroom instead, and I finally agree, but insist they take their own bed, her tone is the same as it was "convincing" me to let her pawn my 14 inch TV for cigarettes and hopefully a fast food dinner Granny roars up in a sporty 60s coup she just bought somewhere in the dream world, and she tells me she loves me whenever she can, but she admits she's getting a bit sea sick and I rack my brain trying to remember where I put the motion sickness pills My baby is off being a good kid, age 5ish, and able to entertain herself while the adults work, while my best friend is a whirlwind of action and amusement, making the whole bathroom functional for everyone we convene in the pub downstairs, and my step dad drinks too much and becomes more belligerent, and Granny marvels at the decor "this is just how it was!" and I see her young as she was then. In the dream, I know she's gay, but I never knew that when she was alive, but it shouldn't have been such a surprise I wonder if my dream people have conversations that I am not aware of, airing grievances, demanding answers. The pub matron comes with our drinks, and food, and begins telling us wild stories, and we are stuck in that weird limbo before you realize someone is mentally handicapped. She moves on from our table and we all look into each other's faces with the big eyes that scream "did you notice THat?" followed by nearly nods and incredulous head shakes unveiling the shitty joke "How dare!?! How dare the damaged walk amongst us?" which we don't really mean, of course, but it still lies there, almost said we are out of supplies, so we all pile into a dream vehicle that somehow accommodates 8 passengers, and not cause me and Mary are riding in the trunk like we did for a joke age 14. It is around 2200, closing time, and we travel an unknown city searching for an open grocery store Step drives, too fast, erratic, and it scares me That's one of my excuses anyway when we all pile out at one likely shop, only to see them closing up... my excuse for shrieking mean things at my poor baby girl, she cries of course, and I immediately apologize and explain in annoying detail why I yelled what I was feeling, what I thought, I am exhausted, I am scared, I am angry I am frustrated I am overwhelmed I am exhausted and scared mostly and I just want everyone to have a good time I want everyone to not regret coming here to be with me, so sorry, sorry, but really just justifying unhinged shrieking at my most precious offspring if you stab someone, then staunch the bleeding and quickly sew up the wound, it doesn't change the stabbing at all the pain, or the scarring you still did the stabbing you're still responsible and there's no valid excuse but she seems to forgive me anyway It makes it nicer when I wake up. All my conjured dead are gone again, but at least I didn't really scream like that at least not that time.