Late at night, Young boy dreaming, As he sleeps He hears screaming

Over the trees A cloud is forming, Grandpa’s dentures Flying, swarming

Every tooth From every jar Flying after us, Chasing cars

People crying False teeth flying Snapping, biting, Clacking flying

We run with all The other people, Seeking shelter In the Church steeple

They chase us high, They follow low Biting and clacking Wherever they go

I duck low My desperate defence They miss and chomp On the cyclone fence

We run to the tunnel The false teeth follow. I see them snapping There’s no tomorrow

Then it was tomorrow. My mon swas shaking me awake. “Wake up David, or you’ll miss the launch!..” I rubbed my eyes and crawled out of bed as mom adjusts the vertical hold on our tiny black and white television. My brother MIke, still a toddler was already up and seated in front of the set. There on the pad, sat Astronaut Alan Shepard in his '"holding pattern’' as technicians swarmed over the Redstone rocket that would soon launch is Mercury capsule into suborbital flight.

The flight of Freedom 7 was the only reason I can date this dream, the earliest I can remember. My first psychotic dream coincided with the launch of my lifelong interest in spaceflight. I believe the source of the dream-- if such things can be ascribed-- was that within the past few weeks I had discovered that my great-grandfather kept his teeth in a jar-- a shocking idea to any five-year old, and that I watched a lot of television back then. A Cleveland station made a mid-day children's program hosted by Captain Penny. He had one of those wind-up sets of fack teeth that woudl open and snap shut until the spring wound down, and one day the camera focussed on that hideous, clacking rictus.

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