Mercy

The bad dreams ring louder
like annoying late night cable ads.
A faceless old man
with a rusted rake sliding it
across the metal walls
of a work shed.

The pound of rain hitting road,
and the explosion of the pile up.
The oil dark crows
wailing in the aftermath
under warmest sun.

The laughter of my enemies
in the echoing lobby
of the hotel
where the bar shines
inconsistently
under broken glass.

The popping of tree flesh
in my favorite books
among the millions burned
in one enormous pile
at the center of the city.

Then things get quiet
and her hand
makes a shadow of mine
and our knees touch
for the first time,
and when I’m just about
to fuck things up by speaking,
I awake again
and never can remember.