In my dream there is one constant through the long night of wet street fights, department store wandering and comic picking: the hunt for slabs of sticky, succulent char siu in an aged yellow shop.

In my dream the rangers handle any situation but a severed cord dangles in the water.

In my dream that shading of the oval with the colored pencil is meant to be lighthearted.

In my dream behind the rectangles there are fans to choose from but we keep delaying.

In my dream it would be easy enough to leave the building as long as I could get past the singular shaft with its swinging metal door and greased, curved wall. Then I’m on the carpeted floor again and holding the little old dog.

In my dream I see C in the middle of the crosswalk in the street festival and when I walk up and stand next to him I see the painted look cross his face. It’s been too long and I should have done it before. We chat and he turns away. His cap is white.

In my dream a silvered head.

In my dream hiding in plush bathrooms is called “a complete zanoli”.

In my dream there are three stories of dust and imported quilts to climb through. The lunar eclipse leaves the sky an uncanny black, a bottle of ink tipped out.

In my dream the test means that we must fill out the sheet: blanks for heads, shoulders. I am outside of myself, moving around. It is pleasurable.

In my dream the room’s light is slanted and cool and something is described as the most effective disc to date.