Hallucination #2: A memory of phenobarbital at six years old
Fear was a cold window.
Howling dreams woke the dead, sweat bath, and shaking.
Mother screamed as a train,
You will go to sleep, you little peep.
Do not think the moon your friend!
The door slammed sound as black.
And the world was broken glass,
and ghosts came and stole a child as a puppet in their strings.
In the streets, they’re waltzing as abandoned pets.