Dream 14: Brilliant Meteor
I dreamed of him in his armchair, his sunken silhouette illuminated by the fireplace, booze on his breath and rum dribble down his belly. His eyes were closed — cold, rock-eyes of a man who had never taken his body anywhere, whose inertia had settled deep into his liver a lifetime ago. But his eyes, closed, rocked back and forth like a ship at sea, like the chasing feet of wolves, like collisions of particles galaxies away.
I dream that my life would be that fiery meteor, compelled to the far reaches beyond the discomforts and the doldrums, that I might live as an embodiment of his ideals rather than his example.