my dream was like a Hollywood movie production with Picasso

in a supporting role and there was a sandwich involved

 

I had hoped Marylin Monroe would drop by

and we would spend the dream together with Picasso.

but she was no-show because it could be that she was busy.

I asked Picasso about his profiles with both eyes placed on the same

side of the head which he ignored as if my question had no more

weight than water vapor, but he followed me into the kitchen

where I fixed him a sandwich.

the dream didn’t say what kind of sandwich, but

it laid there on the plate uneaten for the length

of our stay in the kitchen which ended the dream.

sunup and I thought about the sandwich.

but Marilyn? I don’t know. who can say. here's my take:

I think JFK’s mafia buddies filled her sleeping mouth

with barbiturates, closed her jaw and pressed a fluffy pillow

over her face which surely did her in. the goons might’ve tidied-up

after the heinous deed, you know, to advance the suicide bullshit.

everything in its place. no hint of murderous commotion.

the entire situation with Marilyn Monroe was very sad. very sad.

but I must say, a helluva a good excuse for not showing-up in my dream.