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I correlated creativity and dreams last night,
trying to remember when I was lucid,
how many times I dreamt of things like giant birds
terrorizing tiny towns,
or cats that grew and could talk before my eyes,
or selecting semi-precious stones from a bin,
while dead children from my childhood stood with their hands empty.
I tried to remember how many things I had put on paper,
writing sometimes about dreams,
or things I saw in flashing pictures,
moulding media in my mind, until it comes out
like igneous rock,
Molten together sediments.
I cobbled my dreams and words into a
progression of dots,
and decided to follow them upwards.