I had a dream last night about Salvador Dali,
which was so out of the blue
I felt sure his ghost
had taken a wrong turn
into my head.
But I looked him up for clues,
just in case it hadn’t been
a wrong turn
after all.
I read about his interest
in the creative potential
of paranoia.
I consider it,
but decide it’s not worth it.
I like being dewy.
Though I did read
about the suspicious fire
that almost killed him,
and I thought about his famous painting,
where everything was melted.
So I turn off our baseboard heaters
and I check the stove twice.
That night I dreamed of nothing,
and though I don’t miss his ghost
I hope he heard me
thank him.