Through the light and the midday haze,
I saw it – rushing towards me.
I knew I could avoid it – if I walked,
but I was stuck – I couldn’t move if I tried.
I’d seen it before, but not for some days:
last time it was hidden – behind an old oak tree.
I couldn’t escape, I was being stalked,
if I didn’t move, I know I would have died.
A recurring dream that puts me in a daze:
my arms like springs allow me to flee;
madmen, dogs and machetes: things I’ve talked
about, read or heard. Maybe they’ve fried
my brain, until I lay awake and amaze
myself just how ridiculous I can be.
I see myself in my dream – I’ve mocked
myself within the bubble. In my dream I glide –
avoid monstrous things. I blaze
above the ground without boundary.
Many a fright avoided, fleed, then chalked it up
to a page, in which, someone has pride.