Dreaming in a Awaken Dream

by Valery Oisteanu

I whistle in my sleep, I am a language whistler

But I do not want whatsoever to be heard

It’s a waste of time without regret

Place your lover on the open book

Close the covers tightly to preserve the smell

Books are piling up as a pyramid on your ass

A piece of your underwear as a book sign

While trains are moving slowly backwards

To let us stargaze, we are invaded by gnomes’ ballet

With long white beards reaching their feet

They are helping to tu the pages

Of black wool, like lovers’ pubic hair

When I woke up no one is beside me

Just a shoe, a glove and nail polish bottle

Glittering stains on sheets and pillows

With a snakelike trail or a giant snail

Casualty of a whistling of a revolving door.