Dreaming of Me

Today or some other day I witnessed a Magpie fighting with a sheep. The magpie would not yield as the sheep snarled and spat. Another joined. The magpie was on the head of the first sheep when another appeared. In the end there was five sheep and the magpie was yelling at them from inside a bush.

Perhaps the magpie was me – I don’t know.

I’d eaten a redcurrant cheesecake though I resited the red-head’s and made friends with a dog but that was on the road. That road.

I rescued a lamb once, from the bitter rain, wind & cold. Balance maybe, for I’d killed a sheep once. Neither were from the flock I had in Wales. They made holes in the hedges to run off down the road. They regarded me with little respect.

A magpie died in a tree looking at his little world. I met him quite regularly until he became but bones and eventually dust. I felt sad at his passing but he never knew

I have to go north of the border. It’s a matter of the heart which is why I went to France when no-one is supposed to. I go to the borders sometimes. No-one knows. I saw them burn the bodies there at midnight. The flames were so high I thought it was a dream I was having in the hotel where I was the only guest. I go where no-one will or can

When you awake you think of the dreams you had. Sometimes you recall dreams from long ago. They are surreal and make no sense at all for they are figments. Yet, this is where I exist, all the time. It’s one long trip. A long long trip with no end. There is no sense to be made of any of it. It’s all a strange dream. A very strange dream.

 

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