The Stand-Ins

In the dream

the swastika is neon

and flashes like a strobe light

into my eyes, all colors,

all vibrations

and I see the killer in him

and he turns on an oven,

an oven, an oven, an oven,

and on a pie plate he sticks

in my Yellow Star

and then

then when it is ready for serving—

this dream goes off into the wings

and on stage The Cross appears,

with Jesus sticking to it

and He is breathing

and breathing

and He is breathing

and breathing

and then He speaks,

a kind of whisper,

and says . . .

This is the start.

This is the end.

This is a light.

This is a start.

I woke.

I did not know the hour,

an hour of night like thick scum

but I considered the dreams,

the two: Swastika, Crucifix,

and said: Oh well,

it does't belong to me,

if a cigar can be a cigar

then a dream can be a dream.

Right?

Right?

And went back to sleep

and another start.

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