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I see in color in my dreams
like pictures in a magazine
a collage in my garage
graffiti on the walls
inscriptions scrawled
in mangled and twisted dialogue
gunshots and barking dogs
foot chases through my yard
stepping on my grass
suspicious of cars that pass
trying to survive the day
to go back to sleep again
wake up and grab my pen
write out my days of sin
in my devils den
on the last chapter
the book is about to end
on to the next volume
in same column
the author of my subject
the master of my success
positioned and stationed
in a vertical division
fronted deep formation
receptive to incoming information
glass is breaking
the earth is shaking
I'm alarmed and
I'm not faking
is it quaking
or exterminating
I'm awaking
