If I Am the Dream
I am the predator in the hotel.
If I am that man who smells
of rancid almonds, I will stalk me.
If I am the hotel, I am the reversing
tunnels, cells with secret
abrasions, two-way terrors. If I am
the oak staircase that leads
nowhere, I am accomplice.
If I am the sunken bed, I collude
with the sloughed skin of sleepers.
If I am the sleeper, I am
the insomniac whose therapist
serves cats baked in tin foil.
If I am the undercover, I will
bump my elbow on the landing,
say Pardon me in a Cary Grant
voice. There should be no
pardon for what I double-agent.