Dreamish Heart

1983/8/15ish poem by Wayan
To the brave who act on dreams. Unlike me.

Cool dreams and summer heat Like swim and beach-sand alternate. Transcendent under sleep, but when I try to act in day on them, I'm buried in hot guilt. Skin crawls, Burning me where salt congeals. Dreams stack up like pages, each translucent, light, but as they mass, dense, opaque. In sinus-caves the dusty dream-load swells & throbs uninterpreted. Misgrasped. Unsolved murders to a cop; Mute children to a singer; Church-leavers to a priest. Turn my weasel eyes From troubling advice. I admire the dreamish art; deny the dreamish heart.