Recurring dream
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.