Would someone please kindly direct me to the Dream Factory? I know it’s near here but I’ve lost so much sleep that I’ve lost my way. I’ve heard people say that the subconscious can/will/should guide me but since I can’t/won’t/shan’t get to sleep, I’ll never get free from ticked off time which though eternal is quickly running out. Did you know that every vision of the future has a warranty, that every idea has a shelf-life? That’s why I need to find a new dream like soon. Even a well-made, discounted knockoff will do.

Publisher’s Note:

This prose poem was inspired by a 1971 meta-film written and directed by Rainier Werner Fassbinder, whose satirical and semi-autobiographical drama about movie-making has been called “one of the wonders of its time” (Richard Brody, DVD of the Week: Beware of a Holy Whore, The New Yorker, 4 September 2013).

Drew Pisarra

had a ventriloquist act. That’s over. He helmed the digital department for SundanceTV for a few years. That ended last month. His book of short stories, Publick Spanking, came out so long ago he has begun to wonder whether he even wrote it.