a lust for dreaming

Perhaps lust is too strong
to use when referring to
the concept of and ability to
dream but does the determination
to interpret overshadow interactions with
the present self and surroundings?
I woke up this morning feeling
I dreamt something intriguing,
about running, but couldn’t
remember much more than
seeing my legs stomp
on the pavement.
When I returned
from the bathroom
and adjusted my body
beneath the blanket, I was
filled with angst and disappointment
because I could not remember the context
of the dream or the pace of my mind
during that scene. Do we look to
our dreams for guidance or are
we meant to use them as a
monitor of our deepest most
vicious insecurities that we so
easily conceal in the public eye?

Upon ending that sentence, my mind
drifted to the word theologian. I recall the
ability to say the word correctly when
I attended Catholic school during
my elementary years but now
I have removed myself so far from
any notion of adopting a philosophy with
a fictionalized, criticized, or alleged sufferer
of many a sacrifice. As a consequence,
I struggle to understand the basic
function of vowels in elocution.
Has my silence affected my speech? Have
I no need to hone this sense with those in close proximity?

Betwixt myriads of contexts in which
one can find the mind floating as
though nebulous clouds bound
along the perimeter with
structures complexly obscene
is precisely where the desire to
solicit a marking, an indication of a
progression from one’s former self to the
experience of a self that one creates
with the guidance of an alternative
authority, resides. In gauging
one’s oral progress, it
seems the desire to verbally
use words iterates many difficulties
of dream recollection.

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