About Three Dreams

Time slows I doze. In a bath of cream and ink a vacant girl
smiles, and all around her toys move. The water is crazy blue.
The water is crazy blue. Above, nine doves water her with sleep.
There's a stripping child show, and from the ceiling thumbs snow.
The sky is crazy blue. The sky is crazy blue. Croquet-Sunday, and
all the balls I sink are really sunsets so all around me night
flies. The stars are crazy blue. The stars are crazy blue.
Dreams mean my brain's on break. It takes my day and starts to
say a fable. A no rules game, rearrange reigns. Takes my whims
and swims circles 'round sense. Cockroaches climb the clocks and
the cuckoos are all Jewish. We're naked except for the plaided
patch you're stitching into my groin. "Don't stop me,"
you say, "this is something I've been needing to do for a
long time." "All right," I reply. Then I'm
kissing you in a long blue boat; it's a plastic yacht, with
Chicanos on deck. They bail the jellyfish from the boat and then
drink it. "It's the only way to keep them from stinging the
tourists," one man says. The air is icy-cold, but we are
happy, we are getting married. Now it's the desert at dusk. The
sky is blue chrome. I pick one sequin from your dress and then
kiss it. I put the sequin into the sky. "That's my
star," I say. "And I'm your cowboy."