It was a humzinger of a dream, baby, I dreamed it for you, baby. Gypsy Rose Lee put away your feathers. Things get muddled with interlocking conglomerates high profit on the margin kind of dreams my mother wanted me to be a teacher not a stripper take the summer off with my husband and kids my dream more like book shelves and fern bars, the gypsy rose lee syndrome arrears again maybe there’s more depression than meets my dream boat walking through the dining room to the refrigerator for a cold drink something Victorian with velvet on a mountain top. Martin dreamed his dream for all dreamers didn’t book a non-refundable flight knew what ran beneath those streets paved with gold.
Blood money drips with tears and Quentin Tarantino movies exploding myths bodies convulsing until the last man is standing always a last man or a best man or a first man Adam pressing a buzzer to choose the Voice. Question fielded to the audience: What does everyone have, but few can realize? A dream to be or not to be Golde from Fiddler on the Roof lighting candles on a white tablecloth so all in the family will holla back with news of winning the lottery paying off credit cards sending kids to college in the olden days education used to be the only thing no one could take away from you plan on working three jobs in a riddled time without boobs or the body, I was lucky to get a diploma.
My voice is filled with tintinnabulation sighs of people like Uncle Sol going to his shop every day whistling I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles dreams come from prayer shawls the big let down on the other side of the cow shed the American Dream is about making it big cutting out coupons Goldilocks with three bears cooking her instant oatmeal more like the freedom to keep dreaming I will find love pure love easy on the eyes the pocket book a spiritual kind of love makes me go to services say thank you for this blessing or talking to a Bay Laurel who listens no matter what the temperature sap rising, dreams are our innocence our incense we burn every night.