Dreams

Dreams

Dreams are a story that isn’t a story A message from the stranger in my self assembled from images drawn from my lived life but viewed so differently

Always a struggle to make sense of it all My waking mind trying desperately to complete the necessarily incomplete to record what can’t be written

Dreams are like writing on mist where everything dissolves before logical thought and my mind struggles against itself Two incompatible realities that are clothed in strange ephemeral logic

Dreams are never a whole story Dreams are never a complete fabric and are always clothed in ephemeral logic They are packaged to be satisfying yet always leaving me hungering for more