Dreams are middle-aged women in yoga class
thinking, "How far can you stretch the truth before it snaps,
like a brassiere's underwire,
like a chicken's neck,
like a manic gospel choir,
like a psychopath."
Dreams are dressed in scuffed stretch pants with cellulite and
straining veins exposed beneath unforgiving spandex,
and only have to bend in an unfamiliar direction to
feel the burn.