In my dream C tells me to write more poetry, that I’m good at it. We’re leaving and he’s leaned back into the corner of the bed. I marvel at how he has made a career as a poet at last.

In my dream lists and raisins.

In my dream L comes by the new office and while we talk I realize that because it is long and narrow, the front entrance isn’t the best one. On the other hand, the sides have huge windows onto the courtyard and lobby with views of light and grass.

In my dream we push through the shoulder high snow, looking for a place to sleep in the village.

In my dream I am unpacking some boxes from storage, with files of clippings and books. And then I get to compliment a woman on her perfectly made hat, a green felt number that combines a cloche and a fedora.

In my dream Dirk Bogart has posed for the ultimate English pin-up : pallid, scrawny and embarrassed. Later I’m pissing blood.

In my dream I tell the German monk in my video game “I’m not interested in dealing with dragons now”. Seconds later, a spherical clown pops between the claws of the black dragon wrapped around the Manhattan bridge and bounces down two silk platforms.

In my dream I want to add more pieces to my evaluations, even though only the initial group counts. I align their edges.

In my dream the steam ship has a wooden laundry platform.

In my dream I wipe down the square as we head for the exit.

In my dream cops in suits search the yard a bit.