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.
