In my dream the guitar’s body is covered in tanned, inscribed hide.

In my dream the sign’s paint runs across the snow.

In my dream the path outside of the cabin is lined with the unresting dead. We are inside dipping in and out of sleep, getting ready to fuck. After finding my third flea jumping around on our bodies, I begin to suspect that J has been sneaking them in to irritate us.

In my dream I’ve clawed it together.

In my dream it’s time to leave work ,but the surge of people arriving at the door from above ground seems to mean that the buildings upstairs are being evacuated. There is no way out. No one knows anything, we joke, as one girl spins down the open elevator shaft.

In my dream all the doors open.

In my dream the white stools are stacked high, I look down as they shift beneath me.

In my dream I chat to her trying to impress her with what I’ve been up to. Yesterday we were on the same side. Today? No. She won’t be thawed.

In my dream I tell J about my new film project, editing  footage I’ve found around the room and showing it on an iPad that mirrors another tablet in my hand. After the flooding, cult members hand me their fobs and I rotate the overlays.

In my dream I bundle the stalks of day old tiger lilies with other leaves and flowers so that I can duel/flirt with the Maori assassin who has just arrived in the courtyard.

In my dream I straddle the giant rotating pieces of ice, smashing them into each other until the entire plaza is waist deep in blue-green chunks floating in water.