Recurring Nightmare

RECURRING NIGHTMARE

I.

not knowing when the dawn will come,
I open every door; one door,
to be sure, which, when flung open

reveals a likeness of itself,
the likeness itself a door
of sorts—I open—yet again

myself—the thing I can’t escape:
the future the past incarnate.
I do not want you to touch me.

II.

I wake to find I’m not
awake—I’ve descended deeper
into the dream, what use is self-
awareness when selves shatter &
deceive, I think I’m on the cusp
of understanding understanding
is a crumbling precipice I’m not
meant to leave—

III.

I walk around inside the mouth of the cave for years.
one day I venture to the lip.
the world is bright and jagged, and full of holes.
I can almost see the future, a shifting canopy of leaves.
my eyes greedy for texture, detail, dimension.
I almost suspect I am a thing meant to brush up against other things.
oh to be so exposed!
the past clutches me.
I do not wish to be known.
inside the cave are many echoes.
lives I entertained, let go.

IV.

I look at anyone a little too long & they
reveal themselves—
not people at all but faces
beneath which
that other, endless face
lurks—
not people at all but premonitions,
a feeling following me
a knife at my throat

V.

the thing goes only so far
before turning back on itself,
becoming once again
what it always was.
a hole in the world
that’s your whole world.