I’m trudging, alone, in a weird landscape— dry,
yellow straw scattered far off to the vanishing point;
brittle things breaking under the precautious footsteps;
black clouds being churned overhead; the eclipse going in
perhaps for a long nap; the wind howling like
the indignation of my heart; mad— mad thunders
split the dark curtains as if to show me the way; and the gasping field
is about to be all water, but this fucking dream
is only a dream— nothing happens to squeeze the sky
but me: The sparse bare trees transform themselves
into gigantic snakes and fly to me, breaking open
their cave-like mouths. I try to run away but realize
that I’m in the grip of a thousand snakes, all black, glinting
and hissing in the field. Where the hell am I? I scream
only to wake myself in a thorny bed of questions.