"there's the rub"

This endless dream invades the night
Between the bouts of thick sinus
& the frequent urinations as I age ever
So gracefully and shaking off the piss
I crawl back in the bed, holding close
My wife and circling through the mental
Landscape into the many houses I
Have passed through in these dreams

The Rooms are like ideologues impressing
Their nature on my current sensuality
Inevitably there is a ceiling leaking and
Peeling there are walls in faded wallpaper
With plaster chunks distracting me their
Inobvious decay a minor chord in this
Roundelay. I am, I think, searching, for
Something or someone or what I was
Supposed to know by now. The Secret?
The rationale? The key to the locked
Door? Somewhere in an old house, is
This West Hollywood? Or Spokane?

Or did this real estate create its own
Illusive peninsula of dirt & flesh,
Somewhere that cannot be tuned
In by Mapquest? I only know that
Every night there is another room
Another house another broken chair
Or remade parlor and someone always
In the next room, laughing at something
I cannot hear. Or that the sweet air
I breath is my wife’s own soul, as she
Dreams her own extraordinary landscape
Much stranger than my own.

Remade from a poem about four years ago now. Still actively true. I dream in terms of buildings. I understand the rooms are bits, pieces of a life lived, imagined. The rooms stand for concepts, for people I have known, for places I once went or hoped to see before my death. There is always some disrepair, and fairly often people in the next room I cannot quite see or hear that once I knew, or loved, or feared. I begin to think that CG Jung had the right idea, exploring his own dreams (in the mythic Red Book, which has finally been published, but too prohibitively expensive for me to purchase), and writing them down and drawing the pictures from that part of the universe you have to be unconscious to inhabit. I truly believe that writing fiction is a similar adventure. I wish I had the time and space to do that also. For now the dreaming and the poems are the tools I have.