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