Crisscrossing

Every doorway is well lit yet barred and locked. This is my dream body, it is chasing its twilit shadow down blind alleyways pausing only to heave breathlessly as it comes to a stop in yet another walled-off cul-de-sac. Daylight couples slyly with moonlight, it forms a vaporous union that creeps under skin, We are two hands and a mouth, weak hands scratching upon a lid of fear. We call such mind-hauntings: nightmares, yet they seem so very real as we fretfully slumber - then they chase us remorselessly through our daily lives. Why record such fantasies, these myriad variations of horror? Why relive the frights, the needling frets of these subconscious ghost trains - images that fly through all our darkly hidden spaces. Perhaps only to share an elusive puzzle-picture, to reach into other sequestered minds that may experience the same other-worldly hinterlands, the same fear-threads, and there know we are crisscrossing the same unidentifiable landscapes all of us have created for ourselves.