In the Dream

In this dream I don't want to dream
there is a noose
loose around my neck
and the devil teases,

attempts to palliate the situation
playing footsie with feet;
squirming just inches above the chair
on which I stand.

My throat is sour as vinegar
just thinking of this dream I don't want to have,
a pill caught, dry in my esophagus
and I choke

waiting for catastrophe
to fall.

In this dream I don't want to dream
there is a dagger in my hand,
damp with crimson and poised
at my vulnerable wrist.

The devil whispers
sweet nothings about wanting more
and offering so little it is embarrassing
to even consider what he says,

and yet there is something promising
about nothing in a dream
about nothing.