My dream, it crawls on <br />then in me <br />a big dark dustcloud <br /> then on the ground, slithering <br />darting eyes burning <br />humanity sinking, withering <br />two paper bags, my lungs <br />surely afire, scorching, collapsing <br />and in the dim, the urgency <br />dancing, naked shadows wrestling <br />sweating, breasts twisting <br />heaving, moaning, moaning <br />breathing it in, gaseous hell <br />through the well calculated vents <br />and a thousand deepset eyes <br />crowlike, hollow and black <br />watching me watching them <br />and I begin to smell it, <br />putrid scents <br />first the sweat of fear <br />then urine of terror, feces, and life gone <br />and I realize, at that moment <br />I'm being stillborn, there <br />in my dying mother's womb <br />which is this death room <br />full of naked gristle <br />guts and their lanky shells <br />then, and always the same <br />I awake, and i'm bathing <br />but the residue of my dream <br />keeps dirtying the lathering soap <br />and though I try, again, in vain <br />I can't wash it away, my dream <br />this nightmare of being stillborn <br />in Dachau<br /><br />Cin Sweet Fields<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dachau/
