Didn't have a dream last night

Didn't have a dream last night
or none that I can recall—
no statues moving through thigh-high grass,
no pool-side graves, no horses
racing alongside my passenger car window,
no monkey smells, no children
with amputated limbs
crying up at me from their cribs,
no mountains in the distance billowing smoke
from angry Natives who only want
to show me how I've lost my way
again, no sniper in the bell tower
as I wander the streets looking for the golden
labrador of my youth, no house of bricks
owned by pigs who won't let me in
with some wolf-man sloshing down the road
snorting and salivating as he approaches,
no fat keystone cop twirling
his big golden keychain as he whistles
something like Singing in the Rain,
no bright white room with white tile floor
covered with snakes while the continental United States
sways above it on a shimmering chandelier,
no back rubs from Loni Anderon's character in WKRP,
no Wicked Witch of the West with bright red lips
puckering up with her kiss of death,
no head-giving dwarf from Sega Genesis's
Golden Axe, no Mother Mary
peeling off her layers of white, blue, and bluer,
no horses driven by D.H. Lawrence
across a desert of snow as I sit at a school-desk
playing with a small plastic hourglass
filled with yellow sand, no Li Po
offering me wine on a hillside by a harbor
serenading the moon or laughing with the owls,
no garden to wander through, no dice
rattling overhead in the clouded sky,
no Pocahontases hollering at me to bring them home
where the green sun meets the yellow lake
and the National Guard is waiting with orders
to blow off our heads because they have been told
we are zombies, but really they are.