I just dreamed she
was a bleached blonde
but I know better,
Running up to me in a long
familiar unfamiliar hallways,
wrinkles and cracks.
She wants information, my
dreaming self knows I won’t
share; I have never shared
very well. In front of my
eyes flash a series
of red images. Any one
of them would make
a perfect tattoo. That’s how
I know I am awake.
