My hands tear and bleed
scaling the barb-wire fence
as mongrel dogs
snap at my heels.

Every dream is like this.
I no longer wonder
what does it mean.
All I want is to wake up
with my feet intact.

My subconscious
has its way with me,
dropping me off
in perilous situations
with no chance of escape.

My flesh stings.
My lungs over-pump.
I feel the hot breath
of my pursuers as they
leap open-jawed toward me.

Cry out and I cross over
into my wife’s realm.
Her sleep in unhindered.
Mine is unhinged.
We dream in different places.

But cry out and I waken her.
Cry out and she mutters softly
“What’s wrong?”
Cry out and she comforts me
with a hand on my sweating brow.

Just like the first time
I met her.
The barb-wire, the dogs,
almost had me then.
I cried out just in time.

John Grey

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Stand, Santa fe Literary Review, and Sheepshead Review. Latest books, ”Between Two Fires”, “Covert” and “Memory Outside The Head” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in the McNeese Review, La Presa and California Quarterly.