Beginning I’m a Slow Drifter

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I, the Language of Dreams, photograph by Michelle Tennison

What will you find if you write down the dialogue of your dreams?

The following are  excerpts from my own dreams, copied verbatim upon awakening. At the time I was experimenting with writing poetry during hypnogogic states. It has been said that such dreamspeak has something in common with schizophrenic language and can be meaningful in an abstruse way. It can also be quite comical.

Below you will find snippets from a pedantic conversation about sculpture (which at the time seemed quite erudite), proverbial wisdom, and surrealist poetry:

Upon viewing art in a museum setting:  “That’s a beautiful booger named gunshot.”

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Walk to the lake on your many-toed journey.

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dolls roll down in village trees

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kisses salt until the sea salt that led the sea

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beginning I’m a slow drifter

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beauty of 
the sunshine weight
of butterfly 8