High school. Khaki. Fit, so he must be a soldier. A captain we trust. The right-wing Christian fundies, (terrorists terrorized) flee in their undies through rooms antique. Older and older. Indoor savanna. Boulders! A sentinel on one tor: a leopard. More. Long stare. The elephant knew the way out, but got stuck upside down. Pillarlegs flail. We must befriend and right her to clear the only known spiral stair to escape this dreamwrong underscape jail.

NOTE

This comic nightmare-poem has an odd genesis. I'm going through a drawer full of disorganized notes and books used in building the World Dream Bank. I just tossed stuff in for years. Now I'm finding a lot of unfinished business in there. This was a tiny paper slip with pencil notes transcribing a shamanic dream by Xanthe--told to me over the phone I think. Undated, and so faint and telegraphic I can't be sure of much except my translation into a poem is likely not too accurate. But the core image was clear. And unique. Not even Dalí...

--Chris Wayan

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