In my dream a soggy white face made of glue hangs in mid-air.

In my dream the sarcophagus opens and even though we had been running towards it across the plain, we turn and flee, as demons stagger forth, some mounted on fraying tigers, some made of oily soot. Their numbers will grow.

In my dream I meet my mother with my sister while they are eating at a folding table set up on the sidewalk. My mom is disgusted with me because I’m still not wearing any shoes out on the street after all this time. There’s no way to make it right.

In my dream I talk myself into a room of pink taffy crunch and brain-dimmed pleasure. This is an ongoing negotiation.

In my dream Douglas Crimp grabs me from behind and wraps his arms and legs around me,attempting to pull me over. “These philosophers!” I joke,”It’s always Greek-style wrestling with them”.

In my dream around ten people arrive and head for the doors at the back of the alleyway. I ask “What is this,Tavares?” And someone replies “When the powers of Soul and Funk combine, you get…”. This is the chance for them to expound on their new coaching program for me and a friend which is going to include a lot of movement, and from the way they grab my thigh, weight gain.

In my dream the champagne pulses before my eyes and someone enters the hallway to tell me I need to get Sur because of an emergency around the corner.

In my dream the density of my argument plays out against water.

In my dream the whole world wavers, then becomes a back yard.

In my dream a woman is bragging about her spouse outside of the tiny stationary shop on Amsterdam Avenue: “Oh she can give you the full constituents of a bridge.”

In my dream: a plan with white pages.

In my dream I inspect the glass dogs as they are unpacked in the back room.

In my dream people stampede through the aisles of the department store, shoving past glass partitions and racks of clothes. Cornered, my only choice is to throw the dog I’ve been riding into the jaws of the oncoming lion in hopes that it will distract him.

In my dream I create two things: a concrete building of stacked two-person conference rooms with tables and rugs, and a salad with peaches slices into strips and latticed together. People are inspecting both of them on the campus’s beach.

In my dream I struggle out of bed and walk into the warehouse. The play is happening and walls are painted a mottled gray, covered in splotched fabric, winding and endless. I am backstage and lost, I find someone who might be a stage manager and ask to be brought to the “front of house”. She leads me through more set, more rehearsal, more debris. There is glass on the floor. She grins and disappears.

In my dream it’s orderly until I get past the first archway.

In my dream the frame slips, the images repeat and I get up while a song I’ve forgotten plays in my head.

In my dream I’m back in the apartment I’ve always coveted and the walls have been resurfaced. I search for an additional room that I might make into a studio. Like usual, rooms fork in all directions and the layout is bewildering.

In my dream I’m looking at a rack of papers. I hold a handle. We have been building for days. 

In my dream we move along the stage. It’s about to happen.