Responding to Desnos

So this French poet, Robert Desnos, held a radio conversation a long time ago in which he discussed dreams with several poets. The dreams were fascinating, especially in the way the poets described what they were seeing in a surreal world. Desnos goes on to request his listener's response to his dream in particular. He wants to see/hear our "dreams of my dream" through any written means necessary. Thankfully, my poetry teacher has introduced me to this wonderful conversation and has 'demanded' all of us to write a response to this beautifully meaningful dream of Desnos'. Just as a reference point, Desnos, in his dream, is moving or has moved into a new house with his significant other and while there he discovers this strange floor between the first and second story. It's typically dark, but not spooky or threatening. It's more like an invited place calling him to sit and write, to explore and exist, to remain and thrive. Here's my response to Desnos' dream:


A space between spaces, between the first and second of all: it’s an interesting place to put space, and places that render a call. Do you shelter your eyes from believing even with sight you’re judged on perceiving as dreams circle round the reality creating infinitely curious curiosity? And this wandered unearthing above and below centered being shouts for desirous absence from the structured building of essence. It’s justifiably a necessity of encouraged depravity of distancing society from our unformed reality in order to feel gravity toward our uncensored fantasy in quiet places so darkly shaded for lack of immortality. It’s obvious to know the state of dreaming ends when eyes lie low. The shades, the places, the darkness yet weightless; however, dear Desnos, you dare not go? Footsteps have fallen and the walls are but calling, possibility knocks in your dreams. How daylight in dreams filters shading in seems sought roughly about in spaces of eves... in the places of spaces lost between the wastes of form.

That’s what it does, this floor between floors; above the head and lower than feet, where the gods and the conscious do meet. It breaks away spaces and invites the creative and asks you to linger though moonlight’s abated. Now my hopes are invested in jealous attraction to this seemingly impossibly possibility between the stories.