(based on suggestions from @matchtrick, @realnixwilliams, @notcharming, @ernmalleyscat, @iFigaro2u and Mark)
My mis-slept youth, dreamsled pulled
me quietly room to room.
An occasional parent tailed.
Unaware of architecture or
dubstep rain on corregated roof.
I beat a path. Frogs wobbled bass from
flowing garage gutters. I pulled shapes.
Flew on private wings,
Zhuangzi’s transformation danced
my 2-step dream on grimy kid toes.
I spoke of crows that hopped and flapped,
come morning I found a black feather
nestled on bedroom carpet, and
would not be convinced.
These days, my somnolent ambulance
correlates hysterically tired
or historically boozed.
Get dressed, get undressed,
wander half-naked for water.
Bemuse my housemates with
sudden displays of skin.
When he was newborn I awoke
by his cot at three. I had assembled
to express my love. He slept on.
My dream doppelganger
acts on my behalf. What would I
do if I could license her? Vacuuming?
They say never to wake us.
Stood outside my dream house
took possession from a fat
estate agent, said goodbye
(or words to that effect)
to those smiling suits forever.
Awoke at my rented front door,
clutching my keys. Waving.
Moments evolve to real under my fingers,
truth is tasted on the tongue.
Disguised as myself, limbo between
sleep and world in strange horror.
Slow knowledge: the moment a bull
gathers itself to charge.
It is beyond my apprehension.
Awareness trashed; a rockstar suite.
Things thrown out the window,
stolen tea and coffee-making facilities.
A woman dreaming she is a man
dreaming he is a butterfly.
When you book a room in someone’s head,
don't steal the bath towels.
Today's poem is based on suggestions from six peeps:
- @notcharming: "real estate agents and how i bought a house so i didnt have to deal with them anymore :)"
- @realnixwilliams: "booking accommodation"
- @ernmalleyscat: "the drum & bass of rain on the roof & frogs in the gutters"
- @iFigaro2u: "dreams"
- @matchtrick: "Somnambulism. A bull. What would you do with a doppelganger? Keys. Also disguises. Thankyou for your time."
- Mark: "request for poem: misspelt youth: poetry by malapropism."
As an adult I usually only sleep-walk when I am really overtired or really drunk (or both). I've gone to bed in pyjamas and woken up naked, and vice versa. In my uni years I surprised my housemate with occasional half-naked ventures into the kitchen (I won't tell you which half) while still asleep. When Luka was a newborn I would find my sleep-deprived self in his bedroom checking on him while I was still asleep. And yes, I once assembled the breast pump from scratch in the kitchen, carried it into his room, and was on the point of waking him (for some reason) when I woke up.
I have also dreamed of owning a house, and woken up at my front door, clutching my keys possessively. I'm glad I haven't ever gone outside, yet. I wonder where would I go?
It's a very strange thing to wake up from sleepwalking. For me it's not sudden at all, it's a really gradual process, a bit like waking up slowly from a normal dream, except I'm doing something. For a while I am completely in my dream still, and then second by second the world hardens under my hands, and I realise I'm standing at my bookshelf trying to organise all my novels by height at 3am. It's quite an odd shock, no matter how many times I find myself awake in somewhere I don't understand.