In my dream the green vinyl dinette chairs are stacked in interlocking patterns ,waiting to be tossed in a garbage truck. When I look at the ladybug in my hand, I can see how much the radiation has mutated it.

In my dream they both move back and forth. A courtyard.

In my dream something is linear and my body folds around it. I hear “this is what being a woman means”.

In my dream the translucent pottery is packed in wooden crates stuffed with excelsior. I walk around them over and over.

In my dream I am being held hostage and when I kill one of my captors with a knife, the solution is to hustle me out of town and into New Jersey. We search through a warehouse of abandoned restaurant equipment, crusted with food and maggots until the last two of us climb into a broken down car from the sixties. I worry about looking innocent at the toll booth.

In my dream Beyonce is showing me the customized DeLorean she purchased as a present for her mother but then kept for herself. I gently probe her about why she might have done that, and we talk about childhood feelings of lack and overcompensation. It isn’t our first conversation.

In my dream there is some tenderness in the final part of our discussion. We move outdoors into the grass.

In my dream a moth flew up to my face.

In my dream we are debating over the definition of five smooth containers in the middle of the tall grass.

In my dream he tells us there’s mouse shit in the apartment.outdoors the plan involves a dog.

In my dream we run across a field left rutted and muddy by a torrent. “There’s too many brooks!” they shout out to me as we slip.”They’ll spoil our broth!” I yell back. They immediately change direction, heading for our kitchen and I have to catch up to them, panting and explain that I was making a joke and what that joke was.

In my dream the bomb drops while I am in a field . I make my way back to an overgrown alley, where my beloved and our dog are living out our final days. Her beauty makes the tears come to my eyes.

In my dream there isn’t a dispute, but the trees reach over a pitted white wall.

In my dream there is muted discussion.

In my dream the shower is being slowly overrun by “encephilids” ant-like insects whose segmented bodies are swollen and mottled, veined like rancid meat. Each one I see is larger than the last. The shower’s glass door slides shut, catching the ones at the top. I hear them pop and feel the spray of their innards hit my face. The horror of it makes me shriek.

In my dream gold is suspended in the red.

In my dream I am doing my job, by yelling at some people. As I’m getting worked up I feel worse and worse. The afternoon light hits the wood floor.