Walking Lucid

by Christian Thomas Golden

I know this is a dream.
I can’t fool me.
I sense the slight fog on my perception.
Something’s off.
Like all other dreams, I have the illusory sense of memory,
attempting to convince myself that it makes perfect sense
to be right here, right now.
But I know that I can’t know how I got here.
The dissonance is disconcerting, disconnecting me
from what I’d like to believe is true.
What I think is, I know is not.
I know this is a dream.

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