Dream

Colored streams of lightning
bolt from the sides of the canvas
red, gold, green- all royal
and shoot to the center of my imagination.

Blossoming from the crudest circumstances,
the leaves of the olive branch
move from evergreen to violet
in a near instant
and I smile.
Why do I smile at the misfortune of it?

In my dream, a man-eater so cold
hunts me down while I run,
skipping along the pavement
while I tear across the ceiling.

...

This dream is ridiculous.
Lacking sense and propriety.
My senses would disapprove
at the frivolous makings of my subconscious.

Should dreams make any sense at all?