Sick Dreams

Thomas Pescatore

I was climbing across
rooftops sky deep
purple outlines in black,
on all fours I moved,
there were no windows
no lights no doors,
I traveled miles in seconds
a giant on the top of the world,
an endless city under my hands
my feet,

until I peered down
below, into the bottomless
gulf beneath me,
and shrinking I fought to
find a way down, a way inside
blank structures that began to split apart
or maybe had always been apart,
I had just been so large,
too large to really see,

*

I was walking into a
condo on the beach, sky still blank
dark, I saw from sliding door,
great tsunami crashing toward me,
an image like a painting,
and smashing through
the walls the waves struck me
oily, sandy, dark brown liquid
in my mouth,

I began heaving, spitting,
another wave was on its way,
larger than the first, I had no time
to escape,

*

I was moving along a city wall
at great speed, escaping something,
I bounded off and into an alley,
moving fast, I slid into an open
basement window thinking,
“they’ll never find me,”

*

I was walking in a department store
clutching a small orange cat to my chest
there were people there, buying dolls
the whole store full of dolls, I couldn’t make
them out, a girl asked me about the cat,
how long I’d been holding him,
it felt like hours but I couldn’t tell,
I couldn’t know,

“A long time,” I said,
“A long time, I guess.”

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