Dreams are God's oragami after a bottle of sour wine
man in the moon looks on. An angry cloud dictates when
sailboat masts ride past on triangular ocean grooves.

Morning moments of awareness: a soft pink cramp in the lower breast, heat at the brow. Before that, this dream: prunie pale palm touches tanned thigh flexes and sand falls back with other sand, tiny iridescent mermaid scales; like abandoned pennies left for lightening or flickering satellites.

Triangle patterns.
bright light


does the man in the moon exist.
A sailboat rides past on the ocean’s groove. Triangle patterns.

take steps in unison left and then right when they startle they look like wind up dolls on their last crank.


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there would be no dreams:
the grit of sand betwixt a palm and thigh,
set within the sand; tiny iridescent mermaid scales like pennies left for lightning or flickering satellites to braid beach to sky.

Twilight bid him down so that this vision may precede moments of morning awareness: a soft pink cramp in the lower breast, heat at the brow...

“It's money and adventure and fame. It's the thrill of a lifetime and a long sea voyage that starts at six o'clock tomorrow morning