In my dream I punch his smirking face and slack, unresponsive body over and over until he tries to ether me.
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In my dream
In my dream we head to the waterfront in the early light. She shows me her technique for picking pockets at subway turntables and is angry when I say that I can just pay for us. We have so far to go to get out of the country and then I know it’s to help her quit heroin.
In my dream
In my dream, right when I think “At least it’s not a row of books again” it is.
In my dream
In my dream it’s barely visible with a sound like escaping gas.
In my dream
In my dream a pursuer: brutal, deranging, tearing through buildings, trees, everything to get to me.
In my dream
In my dream each disc freezes an increasingly large area in a different style. I walk up and down the row of them, undecided.
In my dream
In my dream drawing on the cover of a vellum bound book.
In my dream
In my dream I lift the board to reveal what’s been growing underneath: gently glowing fiddlehead ferns.
In my dream
In my dream I cannot find the argument that will shame the adolescent boy who carelessly kicks over the stuff I’m looking at.
In my dream
In my dream my arms are barely connected to my shoulders.
In my dream
In my dream their blackened legs move slowly.