don't usually remember dreams, but the one i had friday night was a doozy. something along the lines of a nightmare really. i recall that there was coup, and that i could see the bombs, helicopters and planes firing and on fire over the central city, and that soldiers were going house to house and causing summary executions. i knew i was on the hitlist. i recall penning a couple of notes, poems?, to my friend the michigan poet robert vander molen, as i waited for the jackboots to pound on my door.

i woke around 3:00 a.m. thinking the shit was real. i then rubbed the sleep from my eyes and remembered i was home, and that it was just a dream. then i tried to go back to sleep, back into the nightmare to figure what the fuck it was all about. no luck. only the luxurious feeling of stretching out in bed, and letting sleep take you, as you drift out and down into slumber.