“Is that alright? The barn is covered in snow!”
Packed deep white over the old warped roof
(yesterday was still summer)
I suddenly wake dreaming to the hand of winter
cold on my sleeping.
Pupae-like I nestle in golden hay
and the sweet breath of sheep and cows
It is alright, the snow I mean,
but how I ache for heat and sun.
Ever hopeful for a dream
they say he sleeps with a tape-recorder
under his pillow
and a pen between his teeth.
Dream Eater get screwed,
unhand my visions!