cobwebs of dreams

The Cobwebs of Dreams It was a sunny day, perhaps to clear I thought Mother sat in the kitchen sunlight, making her white hair into a halo I asked how old she was, 92 she said, I knew trapped in a dream, she didn't live that long By the slow river, I saw furniture drifting  My brother said that people who lived downstream went upstream to buy furniture, to save on transport cost, they dumped furniture into the river, where relatives downstream picked it up sometimes, they lost a table or a commode, but that was a risk one had to take I knew this was a dream Walking on a soft road in the forest, but something wrong, a strange red light from the trees. I was trapped inside a painting by a mad Russian artist Luckily, I had a flick knife Then it was morning, I'm not sure, the line between reality and the subconscious merge perhaps, yesterday is today.