Dylans Lay Lady Lay played somewhere in his head somewhere behindbeyond a canaryyellow dog and its cinnamoncoloured head

it sat facing him on its haunches if it had a tail it didnt appear to either its left or right

it didnt seem a big dog  or a small dog

it wasnt aggressive  or curious

he wondered if it wasnt a statue

 

                                      then light builtup inside his dream and the dog  overexposed began to fade before it was utterly washed out it shivered and suddenlysat erect alert  maybe to a whistle or call he couldnt here and it leapt left disappearing out of the static frame he watched from 

                                                          he tried to follow it with his eyes but they slammed into the hard edge  it was his dream he should have been able to see itfollow it around the corner 

                                                                                          but apparently he wasnt letting it happen

he wanted to make a fuss but a dull buzz made him hold his tongue

he crossed others without a wit or thought of challenging them 

but there was something uncomfortable of crossing himself particularly when he was aware he was a spectator  he had no command

despite the dreamer was he 

usually he was lax

he did what he wanted

if things lookedappeared to careen badly he could chose to take the ride or turn either right or left

rarely did he put the brakes to himself

and because it was so rare he abided 

which chaffed him

he didnt like to abide or obey

he didnt like blinkers or restraints 

Christ this sucked 

                     and in the dogs place an overexposed couple a man and woman appeareddropped in like a slide  

he didnt know who they were

he couldnt see

they walked towards him hand in hand

but they steps never brought them any closer  

he wasnt stepping

like they were walking on a trendmill a hamster or rat wheel a rotor drum that whispered behind him and that he could scarcely see riding up behind them

a perpetual walk

they were talking

he couldnt hear them

he watched for what felt like an halfhour sudden flashes asif he blinkeda brilliant sharpfocus  then it was overwhelmed and swept under by fuzzy buzzingbee miasma and static

the dream  inert

 

fuck abiding 

               he woke

whats good for the goose is good for the gander

early Twosday morning,  15  12. 20

1620,  Sunday,  20  12. 20