Dreams of the past cascade through my head. Dreams of driving around in Volkswagons, one orange, and one black, with my father as wingman. Wasn’t he always more of a partner-in-crime? We visit all of the places of my past, Lafite’s and Cadillac Ranch. Roaming through my youth, Larimer Square, old haunts of Kerouac. Places that I have been before roll through my subconscious in waves of recognition. Homework assignments due, and unreconciled scenes of my youth, while seducing waitresses who I work with, all in my sleep. Why are all of these reminders of yesterday coming home to rest? Promises of success wrapped in the delicate blankets of my past keep me warm in spring. Murky water feel like cement, the past takes me hostage in this time of regret. A weight on my shoulders holding me down while I rest in my womb-tomb tiny room full of books and a television.

Who were we seducing, and what time did we meet? Old coworkers, girlfriends and promises left in my subconscious, as comfortable places to sleep. I have appointments to keep, if ever, in my sleep.