Night Fever

My dreams are stitched together, a collage
of roughly cut out stills and celluloid.
They're guarded by a jealous entourage
that tries its best to keep out Jung and Freud.
But no defense is fool proof. On those nights,
when ravens feast on carrion and caw,
performing their unspeakable last rites,
I fight to try forgetting what I saw,
but cannot. With the shadows closing in,
reality a sweaty, foggy mirror,
attempts to hide what cannot be unseen,
and failing that, hold on to what is dearer,
protect it and deliver it from harm...
and rescued, at the last, by the alarm.