I'm in the basement of H.G. Wells library
(or is it H.B.?)
waiting for my teacher to show up
so I can take an exam,
the last and Final exam of this semester.
On the white-painted cement brick wall
is a poster for a movie,
Hustle & Flow
in a thin black frame
with the exact words
"Everybody gotta have a dream."
The poster is tacky,
with airbrushed black people,
fake eyelashes and silver teeth,
but we must all have a dream.
This semester was a dream,
and I flew past it,
the background repeating and repeating,
as I felt stationary.
The noises, people, glowing yellow lights, and dotted flat grey carpet
were all the same as they always are,
but in my mind in this dream
all that disappeared and left me alone,
translating sentences.
In the sentences I found
that our language has grown to a monstrous size,
but it doesn't make us more precise.
Our brains are more cluttered with distractions from the common associations we would be able to make.
Our dreams might be more cluttered, too.
But, in nature, they are all the same as they were
a long time ago.
As they will be diu,
for a long time.
