Nightmare fumes around my face like camphor in a sac.
Your shoes are open graves I stumble on.
your socks, dead birds to gather up.
This is the bottleneck. With every breath
I draw, the rings
constrict. beside me in the bed
you're like a third rail, rigid with current.
I listen to your mutterings, sort through the gibberish
for signs. You thrash, cry out, wrestle with the sheet.
Underneath the El, the house shakes…
I dream my mother's dream
from my grandmother's bed: the eels are all
escaping from the kitchen sink…
A blue volt wracks the sky
arcing you awake. Our eyes meet.
the light fails. We plunge through tunnels
pitched headlong. Brakes squeal like pigs.