I dreamt about you again. And we always meet in hotels. Of course it would be.
You sat there, with my great grandmother, who I’ve never met. She told me, she too had a dream.
“On the fifth season and the twenty fifth hour of the point of the millennium, the moon turns its dark side towards earth and this is when the market happens. thirty three ships dock on the beach when nobody else is perceiving. And people, all kinds, part tiyanak, part scoria, part hahakigami, part siyokoy, part zeitgeist, part LLM, part orchid, part cyanobacteria, part amphibian, part amphibole etc. set up shop. Spanish silver coins accumulated from millenia of falling inside couches come out of their tongues. say “can I have some of that fine bone China” and laugh and test the ocean for pollution. They hang chickens until they turn red, green, and blue. They trade eyedrops with each other to see what the other has seen. They laugh all night and wear our clothes. They cry exchanging silver for silver. They play government until three emperors are assassinated, or three presidents are impeached. “How far we’ve travelled, to be here on this shore.” When the night is over, even though it seems like it never is over, but all things become over, they put things right back where they were before they arrived. And the moon turns back, once again tidally locked.”
You gave me a silver coin. And told me it’s fool’s silver. And said, I should make a wish. Every guest can.
Waiters arrived with large silver trays and put on the table a big slice of apple pie, a cloud of methane, a cut of wooly mammoth. Labelled “If they won, which they didn’t”. I said, “Winning implies there was a war.” You read my fortune.
Do not go to the doctor
bringing a doll during a blood moon;
The diagnosis will be correct.
Do not wear somebody else’s clothes. Instead,
trade another’s strategy.
You will get lost inside the hotel.
Do not memorize the doll inside your room
near the rolling window;
You will have a stranger’s dreams.
Do not lean into the ocean
making faces;
You will lose a memory.
Do not reply to the echo
from the lake inside the hotel
you will be visited by a galleon.
Do not let your enemy’s photo face the mirror.
You will be standing behind their screen, peering inside.
Not as yourself.
And the visitor will lean over its shoulder,
looking into the margins.
swapping their reflections on the glass.
Before I could think my wish, we
flipped the coin. It
multiplied, and you disappeared. The market, you
said, is speculative. This way we’ll meet again.