The genesis of a poem: Driving and Crying

Last night I had what I call a “thinking dream” – I’m neither fully awake nor fully asleep. I’m vaguely aware that I’m dreaming and can manipulate some of the images I see internally while adding commentary. I have these “thinking dreams” quite frequently.

I'm jotting down here the images and emotions I had in last night’s dream with the intention of giving shape and meaning to the vision in the form of a poem.

Driving at night on a winding, curvy blacktop road with tall trees shooting upward from either side of the road (Natchez Trace perhaps). Bright headlights, bright solid white line demarking the edge of the road and reflective yellow dotted lines down the center. A pickup truck. Ice chest of beer in the bed. A can of beer wedged between my thighs. Hot beer tossed can – the sound of a full beer can hitting the pavement – a thud? Reflection of dash instruments cast in side window. A ghost thumbing a ride. My ex. A deer – a fawn – leaping in front of me. A crash. Busted windshield. Full moon. Drag body to the side of the road. Look back, in the distance, standing in the middle of the road, the ghost of my ex. Music. “Driving and Crying”? Jimmy Buffet? Running scared.

And now the creative process begins...