waking up with a chuckle in his book was always a good thing better than screaming outloud because of a nightmare and in a panicked sweat 

                           however neither badgered him

the chuckle made him wake whodadfuck in America dreams in Latindreams in words that move like water or flutter like fallen leaves butterflies moths anxious at a burning bulb

all he could scarcely remember of Latin was from when he attended Catholic church with his grandmother as a boy

the priest his arms spread wide gown pleated pristine white seemed like wings overhung with a festive purple and gold stole stood directly beneath a massive crucified Christ carved of wood 

it was awesome

Grandma Do you know what hes saying

Sssh.

Do you . .

. . Not now she said in broken Englishits shards mangling the two syllables Not now, boy.  

he wanted to persist 

he couldnt read yet 

it angered him when people said things he didnt know and this man this priest standing on the ambo could have done him the favourprobably the entire church by speaking in English not mumbojumbo an archaic tongue a tongue like those used among specialists who want to keep the layman at bayvocabularies meant to confuse and dismay anyone who wanted to know exactly what they were saying

the way priests and doctors and lawyers and gangsters talked

in his dream the best he could make out was because the letters floated indiscriminately weaved about and around each other formed other words or nonwords was interare territarum in script in fonts unspoken he would have had a better guess if someonesomething opened its mouth and said

                                                                and if he didnt understand what was said he was already trained up 

he wouldnt have been upset

rather it tickled him

                      it was hard to tickle him while he was awake

so still chuckling and blearyeyed he rolled right to an old feed crib stood on end that served as a night table and took the pad and pen there and scribbled what he thought the juggled letters said inteerar territory not territory territsomething  instree terri something each word threefour syllables  

he returned the pad and pen to the table 

it wasnt gonna get any better than that

he laid back down and still his breath broken by a chuckle he tried to fall back to sleep and run the culprit down if it hadnt gotten too far ahead of him

running down a street  it was very familiar to him cobblestones brick rowhouses  old iron Balustrade fences topping concrete and stone curbs  a yellow light coming out through an open window paleivory eyelet curtains moving to the nights breath then she appeared at the window waving to him blouse open as he remembered bra fastened hastely a crescent moon aureole coquettishly exposed as he remembered she was a working girl who worked him plenty more than the fifty he gave her from another dream

Whadayasay? she cried coyly shaking her tatas Yaint got damoney Ill take an I-O-U.

hed call that a harmonic convergence

he let Latin skip on ahead

itd lost him anyways

hed rack it up as a long shot a valiant effort

although

           while interare territarum didnt pay off hed check it when he woke he was definitely going to get off

interare territarum roughly an he wouldnt be upset if someone corrected him  interare – to put into earth  territarum – to frighten, to terrify

                      pretty heavy shitriotous shit for Latin Word Jumble casually cropping up in a dream

0430-ish,  Sunday,  10  5. 20

1007,  Monday,  11  5. 20

Neil Young  It’s A Dream  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lJNB8fXje3I