In bed | Autocento of the breakfast table

I

I hear the rats runin the walls like waterthrough a tree. My blood

thickens. As I dreamthe masturbation dreamthe shelf above my bed

falls covering me indirt and decaying beetles.I see my reflection is headless.

When the waves stopand the moon grins downto overtake me: the car

ran up the street that nightwhen you were nearlymolested in your neighbor’s house:

is this why we don’t haveneighbors? For this the treesrot only for us?

I woke screaming and youcame to sit next to me. I feltmy eyes were open too wide

that I could not shut themfrom the horror movie sittingon your lap in the easy chair

in the dream the other dreamin the living room underthe tree. Why do I feel guilty?

I wake up in a pool of waterclosed over me like an eyelid.There is no longer comfort

in staring at the ceiling.Its pitch blackness beckonsinto a future of blankness.

My body lay still quaking.My mind is chained fastto the beating of my heart.

I sit up slowly creaking.I find myself alone buriedin an ocean. Far off

there is an eagle flyingtoward me. She lands onmy knee and lays an egg.

I think not this againsomething I’ve neverthought in my life.

I think not this againsomething I’ve neverthought in my life. Not

after losing my car keysin the easy chair. Not afterscratching myself on a branch.

Not after finding the thingin your dresser drawer thatnight. I remember you suddenly.

[You run through melike rats]rats down an alley.You are in my blood.

You scared me onceremember? Jumped outof the bathroom door.

I fell screaming ontothe linoleum. Did youapologize? Did you need to?

The ocean that surrounds mecreaks like a rockingcradle. Your face bright

as the moon at eclipseand as red. Low songmy tide stretching

to the horizon. Rippleson the surface beliesomething bigger beneath.

In bed I am alone forthe only time. In bedI am a grown man.

Below the blankets Iknow you for who you are.In bed I see your face

pressed against the window.I look out and see youand I am not afraid.