The Waking Dream

The waking dream supposes it is dreamed
by everyone in moments of their lives.
Some dream the waking dream as they are born;
others, in the hour that they die.
For some, a blessed few, the waking dream
illuminates each minute that they live.

‘What is the waking dream?’ you say. Don’t ask.
Or, better, ask away. I cannot answer.
I am not awake enough to know I dream.

Take away redundant, lazy words.
Take away. Words. Remove emotion.
Take it all away. Receive the dream.

Woolgathering Perils

The waking dream supposes it is dreamed
by the tourist in the truck bed watching lions
who regard her, themselves wakened when she screamed.
She wrecked the truck attempting to read signs
in Chinese symbols warning, ‘Do not stop.’
The no-doors truck’s a nightmare; it won’t start.
With lions approaching, she climbs the truck’s top
which is not half as high as how her heart
is trying to ascend, with her left here
to face lionhearted felines down alone.
The waiting dream assists her: Paul Revere
provides a silver lining to dethrone
the kings of beasts. It’s catnip. Lions cheer
as Paul and Pauline gallop out of here.

(29th poem for 2014 November Poem A Day challenge)