Whose dream is it now?

who would have known

that sleep leads to such labyrinths?

OK: Coleridge, Poe,

Mary Shelley, Goya–

they all sure did.

but, don’t doctors and clerks

and even (especially,

on bad days) Wall Streeters, too?

not to mention firemen.

it hasn’t been called

the little death

for nothing.

perchance to sleep, to…

and then, have fate

take you anywhere

from Cuba to Timbuktu

to the Moon, or Mars

Eden or Hades

shady democracy or dystopia.

but–those falling dreams–

aren’t they the absolute worst?

no; i’d say, it’s the climbing

dreams, actually, where you believe

you are going somewhere

up

anywhere else

up

but you end

up

just throwing yourself

flat onto your bedroom floor