Drunk Dreaming

Sometimes I drink, and sometimes I sleep. And sometimes I do both. I call this drunk dreaming. Drunk dreaming always involves a little drool. It is when giraffes climb up my giant legs because they want to lay their long necks on my heart. The giraffes want to snuggle like puppies. I feed them leaves and chocolate milk. Drunk dreaming is when I feel like I am sitting in a spinning teacup at a carnival, and the teacup comes unhinged. I pick up so much speed that I hover. I hover so high I am in a different galaxy. The drunk dreams are of other planets. Places where I love the same people, but we walk on our hands. We drink magma instead of soda. Drunk dreaming of triangles and squares morphing into spheres, like my mind is digital. A compartment of computerized dreaming. Sometimes these geometric dreams turn into geometric nightmares. And then there are carriages led by white horses in desserts. They are galloping away from flying pterodactyls. I am throwing cheesecake to divert them. We find craters in the Earth to hide. Me and my horse, we survive.