Monday, May 06, 2013

V. 2, #39: May 6, 2013

The dream he has is always just the same:
he finds himself inside the house alone.
Someone he recognizes, but can't name,
steps from the shadows, holding out a phone;

He takes it, holds it up to his left ear,
and listens as a voice he thinks he knows
says something unintelligible. Near
insane with murderous anger (why?) he throws

it to the ground. It shatters, made of glass.
The shards rebound and pierce his face and hands.
The air around him thickens, a morass
like cold molasses. Now he understands

for one split second everything he's seen--
but waking, can't think what it all might mean.


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