POETRY
A Train Crosses the Mind
An ephemeral and disquieting existence

faces pressed to glass dirtied by yellowlight pinched souls on a blurred train hurtling into darkness prisoners of a frame of time a thought in a dream
you are on the train face pressed to the cool glass peering into the racing darkness there is a smell of burned plastic and sour milk, you realize that when you-the-dreamer wakes this will all pop out of existence
she is riding one seat over hoisting shots of Saguaro wine head thrown back raw laughter broken free you each throw a shot back and shout, “We deserve to live!”
the scene disintegrates the thought has passed the morning alarm rings
I have no insight into dreams. I’ve read books on dream analysis but they ring hollow to me. The interpretations and symbolism seem on the same level as a newspaper horoscope.
And how can I not know what’s going to happen next in my own dream? How can I be surprised by what another dream person says when I’m writing the dialogue? Are different parts of my mind really not on speaking terms?
Sometimes I know I’m in a dream but most of the time I don’t. Why am I withholding that realization from myself?
Dreams = Unknown
As always, thanks for reading…
