Dream science, such as it is,
Says we dream to remember
Or to keep our cortex fit.
Bullshit. We dream to forget.
We’re not simulating scenes
In deft anticipation
Of future situations—
We’re scrubbing baseboards clean.
Our souls are pillows of lint.
Our pillows ensnare stray hairs.
Asleep, we beat out our rugs,
And choke in the moonlit air.
It’s work. So much crud drifts in
And sticks where we can’t see it
Until it builds up too thick.
Then we have to scrape at it.
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