Sweven

Dream post 4:30 am after cat zoomies woke me.

Eyes refuse to see. Limbs refuse to stretch. Familiar gritty feeling prompts a pointer though palm. Dreaming? We are particles woke too soon. We will not solidify. Behold sketchy, backward hands. Universal snore rips us further into pieces.

Wake.

Chant dreamy charms. Misted curtains shift. I am in bed. Thoughts outside my head. Snap back. Roll. Feet slap floor. "I'm dreaming already?" Finger through palm and... yes. "I'm seeming to be dreaming." Step. Particles again. Wobble in and out of this specter frame of flesh. Pull it together. Dreaming. Dreaming. I am one.

Slink through sterile, soul-less rooms. Lean on a wall. Fall through to something new, a mall. Introductions to one and all. Ignored. Only acknowledgement by a twig of guy spewing carnal propositions. "I'm Sweven. Lucid. There are better things to do than sex." "Like what?" I shrug.

Move along. Goals. Where are my goals. None. Mind swims with base desires. Seek some soul to know. None. "I'm Sweven. Dreaming," I remind this world. Cast for a curvy girl with hints of gothic grace. She blooms from rabble. Her eyes find mine. We greet with lips. No. She is far to fair to bring so low. Farwell. She falls away. Create my own satisfaction. Breath takes me there. Softly so as not to slip awake. Sigh. Shut out the world.

Alone with storms and whipping weeds. From irate sky ropes rip down and dance as double helixes. They come. Raging. Roaring. Ragged souls. Fear finds me. Quick finger through the palm is calming. "Come. Do it. I'm Sweven. Dreaming," I sing to the storms. The ropes surround, cocoon around. Collapse in from the sky. Rain of tangled snakes. Swift shadow.

Lucidity lost. What farthing is this? Wade through gold, rolling green, sweet serene. An offering of bread. I am welcomed. Wander free to find my place amidst holey hills.