NORMAL

I dream of dead birds.

They embellish my back yard.
Their bodies form a soft mantle over the grass.
I dream of dead birds. And they are black.
I dream of crystal gums.
They belong to an old man who plays the saxophone.
Blow, blow, hard, just blow.
I dream of crystal gums. And metal teeth.
I dream of silk flowers.
They are woven with purple thread.
They rest still, pretty, over a grave with no name.
I dream of silk flowers. And they belong to the dead.

Sometimes, I wish my nights would paint different stories.
Normal stories.
Sometimes I wish I was normal.
Sometimes I wish I knew whose voice it is that whispers secrets in my ear before I go to sleep.
It’s the same voice who taught me how to make invisible origami.
Maybe it belongs to the gnome that lives in my hair.
Maybe he directs my dreams.
Maybe normal is not my way, and if it isn’t, so be it.

I dream of golden spoons.
They are lost in the little tin box I keep under my bed.
I dream of golden spoons. And cotton forks.
I dream of fluorescent vapours.
They travel at sound speed and become stars when it’s cold.
I dream of fluorescent vapours. And they taste like mint.
I dream of infinite puzzles. Its pieces are made of mirror.
When you put them together you can see a sad girl with long hair.
And a boy with thick glasses and rebel fingers.
And a gnome with a megaphone.
And an old man with crystal gums.
And a thousand dead birds.
I dream of infinite puzzles.
And I haven’t finished them yet.