The black curtain rises
Sweat drips
Like heavy beads falling from the sky
The hot air balloon inside inflates
Thoughts find dark evaporation
I rise, I move, I stumble
Feet feel like Christmas sludge
I recover
Paper cut on the forehead
Eyes quiver but don’t shut
The podium sits all alone
Like a little boy on his first day of school
A turn to my right
I hope the land is barren
The dream hits a rough curve
Hi and hello
I continue with the decibel of a whisper
Looking on the vast crowd of crocodiles
Ready to chomp on ideas of inanity
The clock ticks
Mrs. Bucktooth looks down with a frown
Any minute now
Whisper to a scream
I die
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