Dreamed 1993/1/29 by Chris Wayan
What a banquet! True, it's indigestible--|
But my parents mean well, and they pay.
A rattlesnake snores beneath our table.
My feminist mother kicks it away.
A bistro's no place for a poison penis!
And "Besides, he can't appreciate
Fine food: snakes have no sense of taste."
Snake wakes insulted. Coils into
A churning pool of scale, and snarls
"Back off!" and I do, I do.
"All it wants is space," I say,
"And how do you know it's not a she?"
I don't point out a rattler-tongue's
A forked gourmet, who merely disagrees
That screaming squirming mouse can't please
Like slimy Brie.
The coil and I back off a bit, and calm,
Angry thrashing at my knee.
I wake in a cold reptilian fear--and here I swear
Two red punctures in the bony joint's side!
So when "Face your blah blah" invades YOUR head,
True story! They took me out to dinner; no snake. I went to bed, dreamed the dinner again; snake! And woke with twin fang marks on my knee. I didn't swell up and die. But still... pretty physical for a dream-snake.
Dreams like this make it hard for me to mock others' claims of dreams leaving physical traces.
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