Freud Thinks I'm Gon Suffocate Dream of drowning in an airborne airplane,
the pressure pushing me down
and sucking me in
to and ultraviolet black hole
and I gotta scream out
if I want to wake up to
a Band of Gypsies booming in my brain
as headphone squids strangulate me,
crunched in a cramped midseat
on a constantly cruising
plane bound for Atlanta,
next to a mulleted bulk in a WWF shirt,
and Brody who makes sure I’m okay.

Dream of being impaled
by a skewering pushpin
digging ever deeper into
my chest cavity,
wakes me up to
the grim reaper’s lifeguard mistress
mystical shade in a gloomy dress of truffles,
administering CPR with her limber fingernails
painted
lusciously
black,
and I hear John Frusciante’s drug-induced guitar wails pinch my ear lobes.

Dream of my lips being bitten,
mad; vicious
and I wake up not to a maniac rapist molesting my mouth
but to my own tooth digging into my own lip,
my own biological clock reminding me I’m late for 3rd period.