In my dream the red of Mr Blobby’s spots and the angled tail light on the fin of some 50’s Volvo.
Me when they play my jam

In my dream
In my dream saris behind wooden dowels. Rounds bounce.
Me when they play my jam

In my dream
In my dream my vertigo makes me crawl among the star shaped wooden platforms after I glimpse the ground far far below.
In my dream
In my dream custard in a metal syringe stands in for a T shot. We’re writing an article about something that requires me to line it up in the mirror and there are jokes about breakfast.
In my dream
In my dream threaded red lights fill each segment of the trip in a white map with a small trench.
Me when they play my jam

In my dream
In my dream a slanting white wall, retribution and bombs across the rooftops. Neon, cozy at last.
Me when they play my jam

In my dream
In my dream the walls of Wentworth-by-the-Sea’s abandoned downtown streets have been etched with elaborate bondage scenes.
Me when they play my jam

In my dream
In my dream picking between HotWheels.
Me when they play my jam

In my dream
In my dream it’s rounded outdoors.
Me when they play my jam

In my dream
In my dream there is a pleasure of being close to the ground, digging watch batteries and beads out of two crevices and a pleasure in knowing that I am plump and femme when comparing notes on hot butches with H.
In my dream
In my dream I doze off and wake up and try to interject my cynical comment into a conversation only to find that the conversation is being recorded as part of a podcast. I am embarrassed and try to let those around me know by writing it down but no pen works.
In my dream
In my dream affectionate antiques give me satisfaction.
Me when they play my jam
