Dream of Last Night In Flowcharts

Ashley Ellen Goetz

Last night there were flowcharts; lots of flowcharts; there were flowcharts on dating and compatibility; inconclusive flowcharts on drunkenness; flowcharts on crazy; there was rain last night; there was a Leidner last night; a Sadie; a Priest; a Poet; a Volk; a minotaur; there were no whales last night; but there were Jamie gingers; there were PBR’s; there were hipster cloves; Parliament Lights; homeless fights; there was raiding of the White’s notebook, of pages, stealing space for thoughts; there were one-second continuous line portraits last night; there were three-second continuous line portraits last night because one-second continuous line portraits are too short; there were five-second continuous line portraits last night because, apparently, judging by the portraits, Michael Jackson posed for a one-minute continuous line portrait because ten-second continuous line portraits are too short; there were tracings of flowchart pathways to assess if the artist of Michael Jackson was drunk or not last night; the flow chart insisted that everyone was either drunk or should be; this was obvious; and the former was already true; there was drunk pool last night; balls and sticks and holes last night; there was scratching; table extensions; chair pulls; there were cash machine transactions last night; there were $3.25 rail whiskey shots—in sevens last night; then there was the Elevens; there was dancing last night; techno dancing; swing dancing; crazy dancing; awesome dancing; people were in awe of dancing last night; there were air balls last night; slippery streets last night; there were dogs last night; whisper shushes; angry neighbors; there was a hula hoop contest last night; there was a clear victor of the hula hoop contest, but no prizes were awarded, egos however, were boosted; there were couch squishes last night; couch squeezes; guitar strums; dark goodbyes last night; there were wheels that were turned that shouldn’t have been turned, but all were moving on off; there was drunk breath this morning; there was a sleepy bed awoken to this morning; there was a crickety-creaky-tipsy-turny flight this morning; a slip-slide shaky, topsy-turvy flight this morning—all kinds of words that should not be used to describe a flight this morning; there was a comedian steward this morning; a warning of turbulence this morning; there was a ten-dollar button for service for sale this morning; a request for passengers to sleep on the flight this morning; there was a moment this morning when all was almost lost; a moment when you wondered if a soul would ever read about last night, and in that moment, that loop-de-loop of a mechanical bird, in that moment you missed someone and the world gasped, hiccupped, and fell off its axis; the motor faded; the engine murmured; hums hummed; sleep my desperate passengers, my Western youths, OPioneers; dream of last night.