Fever Dream

The long white corridor stretches long… 

The long white corridor stretches long…

I see inside the mechanics of things;

The toaster, the vacuum cleaner, each individual whir,

A cog.

I see each intricate stitch, 

The sky as a Lacey white curtain, 

To a little dollhouse window. 

Welcoming aliens; 

Airport runways dipping off into Niagara Falls. 

In my little shopping trips, little outings,— 

White hospital tags stick out, 

Broadcasting me a teddy bear! 

The globe is a marble in my palm, 

Plucked straight from my own eye socket. 

Monuments to nightmares surround: 

The marshmallow stairs, the spook-house where 

Each room became narrower 

Windowless. 

The face is a stranger… 

At the end of the dream warehouse, 

People become half-bird, 

Living in great sky-scraping tropical trees. 

They frightened me; I awoke  

And switched on the light. 

The truth is I had reached the final exit door. 

Three days since,

Yet still, sleep is a child's ball sailed

Over the fence. It belongs to the dog now.

The hourglass is sighing its grains by the million,

Smiles on billboards are peeling off,

The quicksand is losing patience,  

And, panicked, can’t find the word for it–