I Lurk Late, Futon Dreams

And so the raven

peers perched atop my head

into my perception, bores

with its beak a bolt–

hole through my eyes

 

and the hands descend

fanning out behind my

skull, each enladen

with an eye in the

palm

 

and it all fell into

place when I

traversed the hallway

of consciousness,

looking down that corridor

of books, realizing

just how much I’d gotten

myself into.

 

So now I

recount this dream

on the backs of poems

while my three black cats

sit idly by– one of

them now jumping

for the paper hanging

from the nail

in my wall.

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