I build small houses from lumberyard scraps like I write poems, using plywood, cardboard, the odd two by four for the frame.

              They look real, like somebody lives in them and "I" do but only temporarily.  I'm always on the run like you.  I'm being hunted by a foreign army, foreign to myself, who dominate the skies.  I move from one of the structures to another hiding from them. 

     The old house from my childhood is not far away--a more fortified place but not where I want to return.  I hear drones in the distance trying to find me.  I have no illusions; if they see me they'll shoot.  They've been after me a long time.  The thin walls are enough to keep me hidden, but I still keep asking:

                                                                    What did I do?                                                       Why are they after me?                                What is this dream about?                          Do I dare write about it?

I no longer bother to ask the questions in my sleep.  I can't remember how it began, or if it was avoidable, or even if it's only my dream and not yours.  There's no absolute peace, no reprieve from their prying eyes, no structure strong enough to withstand them totally.  They go where I go.  I don't know who's in charge, or who I can speak to about them to make them go away.

     When they get close and I think the bombs and rockets are about to fall, I put on my invisible cloak and flick the switch.  It's my ultimate weapon and defense.  I have no guns myself.  I cover myself trembling, leave the fake rooms and stand beside the wall of the old house seeking protection. 

           If they can't see you they can't kill you.  They can destroy everything but if they don't get you, you can re-build and they'll be foiled.

                     That's why I must live.  That's why I stay alert and listen the best I can.  They wish to end our very existence so why give them that?  Maybe it's futile and better if they capture us but I don't trust them; I've been hiding out for too long.  It isn't TV.  Who is this new "I" that I resist? Who is this new you? 

How do we know we won't become one of them and repress our souls and the rest of humanity like they do?  Maybe some need is trying to get our attention in our dreams and it's not a regression.

                                        It's only a dream after all.  An opening from the other side                   Where the truth lies.........................fighting to get out

I'm looking for any sign or symbol                 I prove it with every strike of

my

pen,

and so do you,

every movement,

every exercise, every shelter 

 built, every electron deposited here,

every night spent dreaming, every image,

every color, every slimy snake, every black

elephant with green torn ears, every recollection,

every fish coming up for air, every marriage of masculine

       and feminine, every chocolate mamma, every sad cold banana, every

encounter, every escape, every pelican with its great orange bill full, every post, every comment, every delusion, every busted denial, every imaginary being, every effort, including this: