In my dream the air is not as gentle as I want it. I look at my hands.

In my dream, I want to leave a message for the radio broadcasters, so I arrange the pins and their hanging chains on the tiny board in front of me.

In my dream night is coming on and I put the little dog down on the crowded porch. He’ll sleep out there.

In my dream we scramble around in front of the dining commons. It’s a casual game.

In my dream I ask for the definition of the food in front of me.

In my dream I hold the bone disc,the three cloths, the watch. Other things are around me. We are chatting , quickly.

In my dream we are trying to get it settled. I have cream . I look down. I have boots.

In my dream I am still.

In my dream my tools are laid out on a table for examination. A creature, a flying furred snake no longer hovers outside: it pokes its face in the air vent, threatening us. Downstairs, they lube the waterslide with swirls of multicolored shampoo.

In my dream there is amber and a man prepares to hunt through the slanting concrete.

In my dream the pool has a boundary. I am eating barbecued meat from a wooden slab.

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.