In my dream they have come back to the streets with a table.

In my dream his speckled rubber mask fades into the dark green of the evening field. We peel it from the ground and debate it.

In my dream I’m brought before a monstrous Hollywood fixer who proposes slicing one of my fingers because I have breached some part of my contract. I’m terrified at first, but become more and more belligerent, fighting him with brass lamps and eventually a gun I grab from him.

In my dream we split the rough wood column revealing its Copenhagen Blue interior. On my next visit I look frantically for the blue beam because it houses the spirit of the community’s leader.

In my dream I guide the large animal through the clay covered rooms by holding onto its baggy, reptilian skin, hoping it won’t get away from me and fight with the dogs in the area.

In my dream the bits of flag stay inside the jar. I’m not any older.

In my dream the air ripples and she has figured out how to smile and get the party together.

In my dream she wants to cut it down to sixteen again across her chest.

In my dream it’s frayed and revolving.