

I dream there is a minnow in my body.
I dream its jaw unhinges on my eggs
and swallows every ghost.
I wake just as the meds are wearing off.
My anxious dreaming, Doctor? A nightmare?
I wouldn’t call it that. I wouldn’t call.
The day rolls sideways, stumbles, begins again.
I scold the being crying on the train
(my dumb translucent self reflected):
But that was what you wanted, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it?
Above the city in a rented home,
a silence fills the glass I drink, and drink.