Ping-Pong

Life stopped

in some way

last night

in my dreams.

Subtle, it was --

how it stopped and

took my breath away --

but how?  Who?

While I was walking around

trying to get my bearings,

trying to piece together the story,

the characters completely changed,

covering over the something wrong,

the something wrong with the place,

and I knew exactly what had been wrong with the place

but forgot it . . .

because the absurd entered

and wiped it all away.

Donkeys and ponies

then ate apples off trees

and I played ping-pong with a

Russian man.