Dream a Little Dream

Is this possible,

dreaming a dream within a dream?

(If not, dream a little dream of a cup of coffee at Red’s! Hey, it’s time to live a little!

Whatever!

just don’t dream of me. I’m not the right guru. I wouldn’t go to Starbuck’s

if it was the last coffee house on earth! Why? Because, everyone walks a path there! OK, you don’t walk, you go through the drive thru. So, big deal! All those Technicalities get in the way!)

Yet, It was so sudden

(but, welcomed, indeed!)

Such is one which took place in

my California

Dream

Now, some say there’s a better

place to live.

But, you might fall asleep waiting

for old Red to speed up that clunky old coffee machine!

Although, I don’t know what the big damned hurry would be

if you decided to take my lame assed advice and drive clear the hell out in the

middle of nowhere!?

Now, even though I’d tend to agree

whole heartedly with a glimmer

of worrisome doubt

that there just might be some place

better than my California to live in,

those kinds don’t seem to hang around

long enough to describe whether that locale

exists within another dimension, country,

or state…

(therefore, please let me know if they happen to tell you, and I’ll live there until it begins to sicken me because the newness wore off way too quickly…)

Something from the sky must swoop

down and pluck them up

like cruddy bugs

never to return

(before they’d probably contradict themselves and put their size twelve foot in their mouths because they don’t know what they are talking about because they are just

jealous we have more share of the sun than they do from where they come from…)

With unwavering certainty,

you can stand there picking your nose

rolling your prize green and brown

 booger

between your thumb and forefinger

(I know, it’s a dirty job being so graphic, but someone has to do it. So, it might as well be me since as far as I know, If you ask me, I will likely admit I’m the designated writer for this page…)

thinking about that creepy eyed bogeyman

who’s thinking about jumping

your carcass from under that bed

you toss and turn all night in

the moment you finally decide to doze off

(and dream your little dream)

because you have trained yourself to

worry about that stupid eye shadow

color you think those girls in the office

will snicker at

(maybe, I should wear something dark like Elvis did.

Well, he got away with it even though I’m surely no Elvis.

Benjamin Franklin, I’m not, either. Possibly, partial Charlie Chaplin with a little Attila the Hun drizzled in…)

and miss that greater opportunity

which crosses your path only once

(or, whenever demanded upon an unjustified childish bratty whim)

 in

life.

That is, confidentially speaking of course,

that a sword forged from the bluest of red glowing steel

will bring down that paltry king of queens

so dear to you.

And, you will soon see, after that tyrant he-she’s gone

you weren’t so loyal to their lovely fingernail job as you had imagined…

And, you would have wished you were up in that cloud

in that vantage point alongside me looking down on the battle for the California

dream

laughing

weeping tears of rain

throwing paper airplanes down to a crafty ruler who snatched all power away

uttering only one ecological battle shout.

The golden fury you would see

as all those ants below come yelling

holding up their banners

and silken hammers

in raging words and

fisticuffs

hewing his enemy down

while our mouths hang open

in grateful dismay

staggering

hemmed in

a chicken pen

like someone creeping

away despite

deserting his team

players.

(remember, you looked away and lost your weapon?)

But, your tailor didn’t forget.

NO,

not him,

he’s no foo…

(yes, I mean foo, not fool!)

For, He was the entity who fitted

you professionally in

your spanking new

shiny

shroud of dry clouded dust

pulling it tightly

around your head

so you wouldn’t notice

he abruptly interrupted your

sweet talking

colloquial admiration

plainly implying

patting you on your back

as he gave you one swift kick in your hindquarters

that

your time was up at the cut rate men’s clothing store…

he said,

‘here’s to keepin’ your head down, chin up, and stick in the mud, old boy!

And, by the way, quit flirting with my daughter leaning on that dimly lit red lamp post over there, she’s old enough to be your mother!’

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About Steven Humphreys

I live in sunny California with my beautiful wife, three wonderful cats and very handsome dog! I write a lot these days about different subjects I hope you will find interesting and informative. Thanks for your interest. Read more 'about me' on this site. Thanks for visiting!
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