Monday, March 26, 2012

What dreams may come

You would think you wouldn't nightmare him
Thirty years buried in the sticky clay of your town
But then you wake at 3:23 in the morning and he
Has transmogrified into a drooling demon who
Murders your sister, who threatens to slit your throat

And you spend the whole of the next day secretly
Aghast, since his ghost now haunts you
Not the demon that your unwaking mind made him
To be, but the man who was; the man who built
You a boat to sail in the drain ditch out front

Why now has he transformed for you?
What have you done that has made him change?
What have you given up?  What have you kept?
So you walk out into the storm, clutching your
Collar close, wondering if you will find him

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