[ from Dreaming— (3)]
It’s dark and I’m walking towards a car. Two men get out of it and come towards me. One of them kneels down with a syringe and a rubber strap. The other’s got his gun in my chest. It’s not often you remember a dream when you’re inside another one. You were held down, naked—and you were begging me.
this "Dreaming" poem and a few others are now up at Big Toe Review.
"Dreaming," my chapbook, comes out this summer from Scantily Clad Press.