In my dream I try to photograph the remains of a scrollwork sign hanging from the corner of a building. It is dark against the dusk sky so I work to set my camera’s flash.

In my dream I play the entire song, gambling that it has enough points to carry me through the rest of the round.

In my dream: more interior storefronts, stilled in dirt.

In my dream she tosses a fan into the mylar garland overhead , and its blades chop the strands into multicolored confetti, blowing it through the crowded shop and out into the street.

In my dream I walk around behind her and take the sample off of the wall. We are trying to culture the oval lesion on its surface. The floor is glossy and treacherous.

In my dream it’s the 1940s and Ella Fitzgerald and I are rating people’s hepness. I wonder why she tolerates me.

In my dream I enter into a low room and my grandfather and grandmother are there in the middle of a ceremony. It’s been so long since I’ve seen them, felt the connection. My grandfather and I embrace, singing together in the room’s orange light.something forgotten is rising in me.

In my dream I stand over them with a bag of gruel under their backs that I am trying to pop. I didn’t make it to the subway in time but I still have the upper hand.

In my dream we play a game of baseball on the lushly overgrown second floor of the structure. We are a group of vague travelers. Our opponents are a jovial lesbian collective. Up first, I score a run.

In my dream I’ve got to pack for my trip to Australia but as I walk by the pool I meet that guy I thought was cute and he wraps me in his arms.