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The lime drops to the floor and rolls under the table; you cannot reach it.


The lime drops to the floor and rolls under the table; you cannot reach it. It’s just that kind of dream. Whatever you want is always just beyond your reach. You can never quite do the thing that needs to be done. 

You try to explain something and find that you can no longer speak, or perhaps you find some odd phrase stuck in your mind and that one phrase is the only thing that you can say. No one in the dream can understand you.

The streets are almost familiar, but not quite right, something about them is off, like returning to a city where you once lived, but now many years have passed. Much has changed. You can never find the place you are looking for. 

The lime drops to the floor and rolls under the table; you cannot reach it. It’s just that kind of dream. Whatever you want is always just beyond your reach. You can never quite do the thing that needs to be done. 

There is a lover for you, but you never make love. Or perhaps someone who is dead in your waking life is there in the dream, and seems to be well; you are glad to see each other. Neither of you mentions the death. 

Time passes. The dream changes, grows darker. There is rubble in the streets, buildings are in ruin, it is night. You are doing a job that is both familiar and unfamiliar, and you cannot actually complete the work. 

The lime drops to the floor and rolls under the table; you cannot reach it. It’s just that kind of dream. Whatever you want is always just beyond your reach. You can never quite do the thing that needs to be done. 

James Lee Jobe      
15 May 2020      
01 August 2020      
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