while at the gallery the fox saw many wonders

you don’t always see it —china town

waking from the dream, suddenly all the other dreams of weeks and months earlier came back to me, as if in that half state you could move latterly though that layer of the mind, like sliding your hand between the top mattress and the box spring.

in his blanket of beach stones the crab dreams of a bright wing possessed by wind. steals and swallows the sun, everyone knows, skin so light, filled to the brim, an envelope of gold. in the cool underground the crab grows restless in his melancholy dream, clicks his claws with fright at these two rainbow demons robbing everything of light