Recurring dream

November 2, 2017

Morning comes like a ghost,

A haze, a mist.

The road’s tar like smoke

Or layers of Neptune.

The world is sleeping

As you creep down the driveway

In this;

Painted dreamland, insubstantial ghost town.

Cloudy sky.

Grey clouds, grey haze.

The world turned upside down.

You’re the only real thing here.

So run!

Run because they’re coming for you.

Run because you don’t belong here.

Run past the houses.

White picket fences,

White board houses,

And two-car garages

Dotting the horizon

Over and over.

A surrealist nightmare.

Run!

The horizon’s a line.

A fixed point

Like a star

And the road goes on forever

And you want to stop

But they’re always at your back.

So, run little girl! Run!

For the wolves will always be at your back.

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