Dreams are the poems of our old illiterate souls
twisted syntax of emotions
raw fear and desire
incomprehensible yet
understood
Created maybe by our monkey minds
cobbling bright bits and warnings gathered
from the debris of the day
They make no sense to our daytime minds
but are perceived in the marrow of our bones
recorded in the nucleus
of every cell, entwined in the DNA
or maybe the RNA, who knows
those twisted chromosomes, the squirming genes
carry more than we know
You don't forget your dreams
you carry them around, a bundle on your back
an invisible load balanced on your head
as did your Grandmother
as did Eve
-- lscollison
