Crowded Dreams

My dreams have a population-density that would make Hong Kong look like a ghost town. Cue the lone tumbleweed to roll down the street.

Why all these dream-people coming at me, and getting in the way of everything I want to do? Why do they ask me questions that would baffle Hume and reduce Spinoza to tears?

In dreams, I’m always trying to get somewhere via some mode of transportation: dream planes, dream trains, dream buses, dream John Deere tractors— you name it.

There is never anywhere to sit. All the seats are either taken, or being jealously guarded by large and sweltering dream-people.

It’s a wonder that I don’t wake up each morning more exhausted than when I went to sleep.

I’m not exactly asking for empty, verdant meadows filled with sunflowers, where downy, gentle fawns sniff noses with bunny rabbits.

Let me just dream-walk down a muddy road through an Oregon clearcut in peace. Or I’ll hang out in a vacant lot dreaming with the dandelions, if that’s all that is available. I need to get some rest.