Whetted Dream

Communicating – in a dream! – oh, soft dissociation! –
quite politely if straightforwardly with his own brightly
lit fluorescent and excited brain, he drew a naked form
or two with fingers on a plane of air: to gain additional

appreciation of the human trunk – the architecture
of its limbs, and sexual appendages, a hint of savored
funk and body hair – like music theory deployed before
the molding of a hymn: arranged as if he were a pleasantly

deranged divinity who could, by merely floating fantasies
of sweet particulars above a sheet of blank white linen
could therefrom spin bodily productions with an amatory
grace that would appeal to his peculiar tastes and offer

something to look forward to as the fulfillment of his
nightly race: a kind of flight to take right to the precipice
of waking morning light – exactly tailored to his quaking
inward sight and predilections: possibly to end in

the eruption of one realm into another; let the dream
world be the mother of the other! – but, alas, we can't
report much past the fact that his eyes opened and,
once open, fogged forgetfully. Coda: he got up to pee.



.