some dreams are too honest to be true,
links and chains wrap barbed hooks
pass just through my midsection,
you could just happen by,
on your usual route,
and witness something you never intended to see,
but you didn't know it was me.
cameras catch things and they don't lie, they say,
there are those moments in luscious REM,
everything is a lie, but everything is true,
it all makes blessed sense...
only later does it start to unravel at the sleeves,
until you are naked,
and you can't hide the hooks from passersby,
most of whom turn away, but some can't help but
snap the image, and I wonder if they are ever the same
as it comes in their dreams some nights...