The Divinatory Crowd of Dreams

Catherine Gil Alcala


Dream 32


I’ve got new neighbours upstairs.

I can hear their crazy voices

zinging up and down the stairs.

A fanciful man with drawings on his face.

He talks in a strange way,

he says his name… but his name is someone else’s…

His eyes full of flies seem to spy on

microbial souls in the atmosphere.

He looks like one of my drawings.

He has the same eyes without pupils

as the character in my drawing.

His mouth blows a flock of mockingbirds

around my sparkling skull.

My pen on autopilot, outline the lightning

which metamorphoses into a lifeline on the hand of the sky.

This man is a part of me.

He’s the reversal of life in the dream.

His lips kiss one side of emptiness…

He’s the human appearance of Morpheus

on the shore of a sleeping goddess.

The waves of his effervescent laughter

fade my drawing in the sand.

My drawings represent split parts of my personality

that have turned into spirits.

The outpouring of a premonition…

The voices of blood flow in the shell of my ear…

Some animal part of me blinks its eyes…

I turn the key in the door, my entire being splits

and scatters into the void…

The spirits inhabit my body

and the empty apartments of the building.

Night owls stand still on the edge of a ravine,

a raven man or a dead man in full regalia looks at me in the drawing.


Dream 37


A woman shows a painting in transformation.

Characters after characters appear,

as if new parts of the painting were illuminated.

Ideal strangeness of mirages,

faces swarm in the solar spectrum,

Enlightenment lifts the skins of inner lives.

I make images appear in an abyss.

The lady devours her lover’s spicy heart,

fomenting souls in her monster stomach.

Secret wounds of revivals.