Upcycled, mixed media artwork by Keely Jane
Three Halves of a Dream
I never laugh in dreams, but they've been funny.
Oddly shaped, reality but warped: half surreal,
half unreal, half subconsciously recategorizing
memories while processing experiences.
An endless tapestry unthreading each night.
I'm a skein askew in the waft and weft. Lost.
But it's a tapestry of squares: a chess board.
In dreams, I'm a pawn, not the chess player.
I'm moved, not knowing the language of the game.
Algebraic notations in alien scripts.
I'm thrown, toppled, outmaneuvered.
Impressions dissipate in growing light,
but the weird lasts hours, shading the day.
I'm unspooling. Something builds:
I should prick my thumb with a needle,
or shout, or try laughing to test
if I've been checkmated in a false dawn,
still dreaming, after losing my way so thoroughly
between metaphors of asleep and awake.
