dream inspired poem
I had my place at the ancient
Colosseum. A seat right up front...
until the horses thundered by
all froth and supple violence
sending shit-mud-water
raining down.

I simply cannot abide. I cast
a final gaze at vacant-eyed
corpses lifting delicate parasols,
colorful, dripping brown.
The spattered faces of my
family, so enraptured.

They did not see the sky
turn to lava, alien drones
opening fire. Do they even
know that they are dead?
I cannot not go back for them.

Instead, taking up arms, a tired
rebel, adrenaline junkie
lifting sword and shield.
Broken glass, stumbling,
black-toothed railroad ties.

I yield to a stony bank,
rough kneed, blood in my
palm, dusty sandpaper eyes.
Raven, dark winged
shawl bows my head.

And we make our escape toward the
bright forest, where the moon sheds
her clothing on oak, ash and thorn,
yew and cedar, my ancestors.