Dreams seem like isolated bubbles until we
wake up from the flow state
Or
Staying afloat on water, strolling downstream
Being tickled by touches of droplets and burbles
Dreams sometimes have this way
of making life occur in another dimension
Painting happenings
the way I like to with words,
or
revealing details and make them believable
before the story ends
Dreams are like the exodus of a journey
between worlds
If only brains were really dreamcatchers
If only some dreams were fueled by steam trains
so they don't have to go up in smoke,
rather seep into our pores
Seems like only the good ones get revived,
along with the terrifying ones and their
summarized plots
and the rest
fall through the cracks
like crumbs
So, where in the depths of our dreams do we lie,
aside from the surface
next to out fingertips?
Where do the bubbles go the moment they pop?
And how can dreams be resinned to be something
to go in the back pocket?
~Tina Meeks
