In my dream it feels good to finally yell at her and I know I shouldn’t.

In my dream they are tearing down the 8th  Street Playhouse and even though I only saw the Rocky Horror Picture Show there once, I decide to get a picture of myself center stage now that the ruins are open to the air. Squirming past the box office and through the tilted the seats takes forever.

In my dream the garbage bags cover the curb. I get half way through and have to go back. We have emptied the building but they are still disappointed .

In my dream an imperious hotel reviewer with a revolver strapped to their back huffs around the hotel room I’m vacating, terrorizing the staff by brandishing stray hairs they have found.

In my dream the fight is against an invasive black tendrilled fungus and a cyborg. I pack my things after a final day of work and joke about an English therapist with her daughter while we walk in the dark.

In my dream I am driving through the snow shower, rushing across the airfield so that I can catch a plane. Later I carry amputated arms across the road.

In my dream the books stack inside each other.

In my dream the end is coming and before we leave I am going through my books to find some blank sketchbooks . Rain begins. The intersections empty.

In my dream the complex is dark and sprawling and filled with sexual activity of all kinds. Most people are naked as they cruise through the aging plaster rooms stocked with cast off furniture.

In my dream we are gathered to kill someone named Davos.

In my dream a square appears around them, one by one, like they are suspects.

In my dream there is muted betrayal.

In my dream I’m on the second floor landing annoyed that the stairs down have been collapsed once again and someone has fallen to the first floor. It’s thoughtless, has management just forgotten that people use these?

In my dream we are changing things over for the second part of her show at the cafe even though the patrons are already starting to distract each other.

In my dream I’m attending the wedding of Dan Savage at his house. We are stuck at tables that crowd the living room. When the food comes out ,it’s high end versions of fair food: popcorn and cotton candy cake, fried things, so I have to decline it all. The tone among the guests is queeny and cozy. My kaftan looks good.

In my dream we are all leaving and my remaining things are scattered across a few of the bunks that line the walls.

In my dream I end up escorting her through the crowded, run-down fish market, past low-key harassment, like shrimp shells arranged into swastikas on the chipped counters. The wall tanks have electric fish and in a tray of ice, blob fish have been kept alive by being encased in wax.