In my dream I am not alone but those around me have nothing to do with me. The rectangles are over there. I am satisfied.

In my dream the time is expiring.

In my dream we float down to the swampy earth while we argue.

In my dream there is a rectangular area of superimposed unreality hovering at head height. It is my turn to do some matchmaking.

In my dream there is a restless negotiation in the grass. I feel wind, but not on my face.

In my dream she is proposing that I share her apartment, living in a short corridor carved out of her living room.

In my dream I step into the elevator with him, and he winds up and spits on my suit. The elevator is slow.

In my dream he is an influencer with a blazer and a carefully painted door.

In my dream the haunting begins when we gather in a conference center in San Francisco’s Japan Town. We leave, and something follows us.

In my dream the poker game is happening in a wood paneled room in the east 60’s, a setting both luxurious and boring. One of my fellow students who is deaf and mute hands me a written response to my essay and I’m ashamed that all I know how to sign is a fumbling “thank you” in response.