J
he told me his dreams
I
he was walking by the
white hen pantry
on sixth and green
and they turned around the
corner in the car
opened fire on him
he was hit over and over
again; his teeth were
shattered by bullets
he said he died then
and he saw from up above
his bloody body
he even saw his obituary
but then he went back, did it
over again: this time
he was in the doctor’s
office. It’s always like this,
he thinks, always
running away from death