Keystroking every day from nine to five,
our desk faces the door of dreams,
unpractical inferior superiors derive,
rolls of dreaming troubles by the reams.
Pinpointing dream troubles for free is our business,
mouse feet wake early to watch the world run,
the world is sitting by a hag-face and panics,
whore-faceless letters awake and undone.
Whenever there is panic i am the assistant,
sounds so-end-so says while they seldom get around,
when we’re done you’ll be an out-patient,
setting records steadily up and down never to be found.
Dream by dream and educating that rare character,
structured self analysis is provided for every member,
dream makers are not dream stoppers and much fairer,
exploiters of dreams are conquered by the rare explainer.
Makers of dreams are lovers as well with health and happiness,
dreams themselves are lonely as well and forever will forsake in stacks of reams,
reams of dreams for the record books my mind did caress,
your calling is to memorize the reams and scribe them down in a bible of dreams.
Your elevator is raising the red roof of my three a.m. nights,
trees from the far side flares torching flattened and rockabying,
pushy invisible witches push hunks of stone until they are lights,
east of the river in the ocean though the ream island city is sleeping.
You are tight as a taught string and nervy curves curve like a violin,
the blue sky begins to hue and we’re ready become a sleep receiver,
thoughts of all those dream weavers and the reams of all the sin,
sleeping in my dreams with me comes with a week long fever.
Page by page and dream by dream my Intake books fatten,
eight down the bookshelves of the cabinet in the stall,
passage doors to the doctor with their cubicles open.
narrow passage running parallel to the main hall,
Detecting interlopers who come in their dreams,
concerned single dreamers choose their own time of death,
ball-bear dreaming every night backless with no seams,
growing bigger and bigger till it’s size won’t allow another breath.
Certain dreamers get ether and cut out the kid tonsils,
rollers of a cotton mill will keep fighting for your life scenes,
never alone when you think you are standing in the stills,
when dreams are now dreamt they power all of the machines.
Cagey dreamers won’t go on the subway or the elevators,
wander now and to the dreaming mill in the fourth floor tent,
my dream passing while puffing up the unswept stone stairs,
your one and only dream of dreams is great and self-transparent.
Stretching omnidirectionaly my vision sees the heavy hanging shores,
looking down from the glass belly doors of and invisible helicopter,
deep and dark masses moving and heaving like real dragons roars,
dwelling in caves with raw cooked meat and dancing wheels around a fire.
Enormous isn’t enough for you unless it comes with the word strange,
dream about panic long enough your feet and hands shrivel away,
looking really closely the sun shrinks to the size of an orange,
only chillier than performing in the last ice filled stage play.
Soft rooms where you can float and dream of dreaming,
great original floaters actually float on their pointless backs,
running minds at night trickle into the gutter and begin sparkling,
drinking blue waters of hope in the middle of barbed fenced tracks.
Ttransparency aside the smoke naturally stinks from what dreams have left,
sogging for centuries over what you think about one night of dream props,
one person in a city and a mere pinprick on the map of the space world,
multiply the number of dreamless nights where there were no stops.
Ideas have meaning and I’m not the mathematically dreaming type,
splitting the number of dreams during my snake swarming night,
dead bodies dreaming of an unfinished paper cutting glass eyed sight,
blowfish embryos with evil-toothed messages bobbing with bottle might.
The sound of their ring and the look of their vows make backwash commonplace,
spiderwebs are now part of our new human vision to turn facing aside forever,
a grain of dirt has more beauty than our frequently misshaped & silly face,
give us a thick sip of darkened blue water and to the last of every lover.
Seeping in among everything else and resolving with aetherqueer power,
opaque and ubiquitous is the transparent bog of liquid thinking madness,
people lie with their worst dreams then toss themselves off the tower,
brotherhood wakes and thinks herself utterly apart and never undresses.
Transmogrified from “Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams” by Sylvia Plath,
dead beat poet 