Quick note: I recently signed up for an online writing course called #strangelit, and part of the homework was to read the stuff the mentors wrote/anthologized. I ended up having some really strange dreams thanks to those books, and those dreams turned into some really strange poems.

This poem is one of them. Many thanks to BronzeAge.Ph for this workshop! Hopefully this means I can start taking steps towards fiction again (instead of staying in my poetic comfort zone).

Last Night, I Dreamt

Last night, I dreamt

of a room of familiar strangers,

my lips painted pink to the left

red to the right;

staining white pillowcases

as I turn my head to speak

I taste

wax and flavorless guilt.

But I kept speaking

Last night, I dreamt

of a wide ocean,

and crowds,

and a large boy who cannot swim.

“The trick,” I said, “is long, slow strokes;

part the water with your palms.”

I woke up before he tried

Last night, I dreamt

of a galaxy diving into me,

from a mile-long cup in the horizon and,

from the lip of the mountains,

it tasted

like green tea.

Last night

I dreamt