for a while i dreamed of contests
of flux between our liquid and solid forms.
more or less races. i say: they say dreams
are not in color. you say: in my dreams things
go on without attributes, are suspended
placelessly in space and i fly among
them. the flying being the dream. it also
is at times a swim or a crawl. oh
please rarefied ocean-trenched earth do
not loose us when we wake. i am tired
of every thing colored and having nothing
to try for. i lay still heavy in the bed
for a while saying those purple sorts of
things then get up.
