Slumber opens a dark vehicle’s trunk,
cold dusk inviting me
climb on in.
Among this stench of oily rags,
against the rattling jack and wrench,
all steeled accoutrements in waiting
to assure passage, chauffeur me back
to an aching place, a cleaved delirium
where terror becomes real:
nightmarish and gruesome, my incoherence
mutters at the twisting id
enough!
I shudder from here to there, shuttle
where it becomes crucial to startle
oneself out of regret − how I spent
my life. Or why? The where is easy,
full of gloomy facades. And then, you
and I embrace, in a dreamy meadow,
our blanket padding roots of an apple tree,
gnarled trunk grasping toward supple sky.
Old deceits engaging:
Wake,
wake now!