cobweb of vision

Cobweb of visions

It was a clear day, perhaps too lucid
mother sat in the kitchen, sunlight made her white hair
into a halo
I asked how old she was, ninety-two she said
I knew I was trapped in a dream, she didn't live that long
By the slow-flowing river, I saw furniture drifting down
my brother said people who lived downstream
went upstream to buy pieces of furniture at a factory that made them cheaply
to save on the cost of transport cost furniture bought were
dropped into the river, where relatives of the downstream dwellers picked them up
Sometimes a table or a commode was lost, a risk they
willing to take
I knew this was a dream, he was telling a joke, which was odd since he died, a long time ago
I was walking along a soft forest road when I noticed something was not right, a strange red light emitted among the trees making the forest mysterious
I was trapped inside a painting by a mad Russian
by breaking out I destroyed wonderful art
the painter's name was Fjodor his surname, was too difficult
to remember.
It is dawn, but I'm not so sure, reality can appear confusing so early on a Monday morning, or perhaps
a dream doesn't care about time