The Nightmare

No ghouls or drowning,
no fire, no ice,
no thin and twitching spider-legs
no fish-hooks through the eyes;
my nightmare is the same as
an egg cracked every dawn,
the morning cup of coffee,
the same motions – on, and on;
my nightmare stretches to the past
until memory recedes to mist,
my nightmare stretches forward
as dawn greets me with a kiss.

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