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Dream Journal

I drove through the corn field to escape the stuntman. I had finally escaped the trap.

It began on a rainy road, shining with streaks of colored light, reflections of signs and street lamps turning the slick pavement into a smeary chalk drawing. My charming new friend and I had just counted all the money that his kindly grandmother had earned from her wise investments and recently had liquidated into cash. My mother had crossed the line by telling everyone some of my most guarded secrets, so Charming Friend, as a way to blow off steam, however ill-advisedly, took me to a baseball game. We got there late, and the rainy road was the setting for us to receive the elderly baseball manager who gave us some granola bricks laced with cannabis.

I saved half of mine for later, heeding his warning that it was quite strong. Charming Friend indicated that the after-party was a short car ride away from the parking lot where we had all gathered. I climbed into the back of a small truck, and it peeled away before Charming Friend could get in.

Stuntman and Driver chuckled that they had me stuck now, and mused that the Friend’s Grandmother would have to give over the cash. We drove down a now sunlit country road — in that Ed Wood continuity of dreams — and I managed to overcome them, drop them out of the vehicle and make my way back down the road in their truck, carving a path visible from above through the corn field, creating my own crop circle.

No, I don’t really know what it all means. Possibly, it has more to do with being woken up by a dog throwing up on the bed at 5:15pm.

Filed under: Poetry | | Comments Off on Dream Journal

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