In my dream, L hunts for materials for her show. The loading dock is filled with scrap that shifts into black and white while we wait in the dim morning light for the library to open.

In my dream every surface is covered in wire, exposed staples and jagged glass. My skin, clothing and hair catches as I try to slip through the barrier.

In my dream I head out of the back door and make two quick rights across the field, to hide from my pursuer. The light is pale.

In my dream I prepare for the density of the text across several days.

In my dream: dogs.

In my dream the dotted gray line indicates a series of burglaries we are proposing that will lighten the tone.

In my dream I turn my head sideways and look through the split tree trunk.

In my dream we are accepting of her “indebted information” under the gray sky.

In my dream we have packed away most things around the brown tufted arm chair, revealing the corpse of an elderly woman. My friend rests her head against the naked, wrinkled back and smiles faintly, shaking her head “no” when I say “Do we know who she is?”

In my dream: ragged chunks of fire breath in her heads.

In my dream the X-ray shows the gold bar to be solid, with no interior chamber.

In my dream: flashes of ceremony on a round game platter.