Waking Up From Snake Dreams


The dreams linger
into consciousness; waking up
seems no consolation. Partial pictures
hover over me, like dark images
on a tarot card. I can still feel the savage bite;
still feel the venom heating up my flesh,
like a thousand bee stings.
I shake my head to unfasten the dream;
my hatred of them makes them fall
in belts, handbags, boots, and shoes.
I rub the remaining images from my eyes
and slowly lower my feet to the floor.
The cold seeps through my toes and wakes me more.
Walking to the bathroom,
I speed pass a pair of panty hose
curled menacingly on the bedroom floor.
On the toilet, my nerves feel a small one
reaching up through the pee to bite my butt.
A splash of cold water on my face,
and like oceans, wash the ophidians back
into their dream nest, back into its box of recurring,
labeled, "My Name Is Legion."