. . . the dream . . . cold, minus forty prairie night . . . brilliant clear sky, stars dazzling the driifting, deep snow . . . on an endless highway, maybe the yellowhead, driving a white suburu sports car . . . Imprenza . . . not really white . . . a horrible mint green the sales rep called 'new' white . . . speeding free and easy . . . northern lights dance above like that black and white picture on the fridge my dad took in the fort churchill days . . . on the right a deer runs parallel with me . . . fast . . . snow isn't as deep as imagined . . . wow really fast . . . then see the wolf tracking right behind her . . . take eyes off the white line to watch wolf close in and leap teeth bared . . .
... I'm careening out of control . . . car hit a patch of black ice . . . off the road into a telephone pole . . . through the windshield flying . . . blood . . . Awake . . . jeez that's not even my dream . . . my son shared that dream while on a greyhound bus travelling the 401 from Toronto to Ottawa about this time last summer . . . he recounted waking up at night and recording his dreams on a sony mini voice recorder . . . often couldn't remember recording the night dreams but what scared him even more was in the morning playback couldn't recognize his own voice . . .
. . . ten am . . . jackson pollack died in a telephone pole car crash . . . this summer feels like1965 . . . free from school with nothing to do . . . secluded . . . ferociously reading, riding my bike, writing, planning life projects and being hassled by the police . . . sometimes late night tv . . . only forty years later . . . could listen to the same music if i wanted . . . read the same books . . . parents kept everything . . . an easily accessible box stored in the basement with assorted pre-teen and teen books . . . harry potter in forty years . . . black panthers, crawdaddy, hesse's glass bead game metamorphosis into al-Qa'ida, rabble.ca, rss and pattern recognition . . .
. . .ten-ten . . . back pain . . . can't get out of bed . . . can't shake image of kafka police invading . . . can't . . . cell tones text message delivered . . . reach over to flip open: "Where r u . . .
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