Swimming or crossing water
and getting held at gunpoint
were popular in dream plots then.
One night a giant ruled the land I was living in.
I put magic chapstick on my lips
and grew huge like Alice
as the giant shrunk.
One night I took a ride
on a boat that had no edges.
In another someone locked me up
in a cardboard box and I couldn't escape.
I came across the depiction of
'a 16th century vicious cabbage fight' in one dream.
Someone 'blamed the crisis on bad clocks.'
I miss tending gardens of giant carrots,
fighting ninjas at the grocery
with Chuck Norris and
making paper machier with Superman
like I did at night then.
Soon, Derrida would start dropping in
to mock how I talked, and my texts.
Soon one night blood would seep
through the ice on the rink where I skated
because dead bodies were stuffed
into basement pipes.
Elevator cables break routinely.
Just as often people light themselves on fire-
loud, in gulches, accusingly.
Over time the big themes changed.
I even noticed the way plots
became hotter and less wet.
I guess eventually fire matters more than water.
The cast of characters talk
much less now too.
Often, these days, little
or no words are exchanged
but this is still somehow loud.
Sounding almost like a silence so important
it can't be quiet.
Summer Alice
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/coming-across-an-old-dream-diary/
