morning talk show, gentrified.

by Matthew Specht


i dream in black and white, you know

i dream of trying to run in waist-deep water

i dream of punching enemies with all my strength but nothing happens

i dream of wet hidden warm places surrounded by soft skin and gratitude

i dream of the end of the world

(i have a bag of chips, my wits, and a towel

armed thusly, my dear, we are safe!!!)

i dream of newspapers as wallpaper yellowed from the effort it took

to tell me the president is dead

and the drive-thru lady knows i'm on the floor of the front seat

and the woods are NOT lovely, dark OR deep

they are rotten

and wet

and would not burn even if you doused them in gasoline

lit a match

tossed it in

walked away and

waited for the warmth

and when i dream the dream where i fall from great heights

i wake up





if i survived



*Previously published in bending light into verse, volume I.