Weight to the Ether

My dream analyst wanders knee-deep into a slurry of images sluiced out of my subconscious.

It signifies everything if one knew how to unpack dreams, she says. They give form to the formless, substance to the shadows, and weight to the ether.

So what about the legations of ancient popes, actually concerned with the souls of people, taking electric toothbrushes apart piece by painstaking piece, I say.

She says, don’t you think someone needs to insure our dental health in our dreams?

Then it’s time to go as my phone’s gorilla glass turns pasty and my fingers get caught in the clutch.

A dozen alarm clocks discharge their bells and chimes in ascending waves of clangor.

It’s going to be a day of sorts.

“In Idaho there is a desert cricket that makes
a clock-like tick-tick when he flies, but he

is not a god. The only god is the sun,
our mind, master of all crickets and clocks.”

— Dan Chiasson / “The Sun”