Best Poems Written by Bartholomew Barker

What Dreams May Come

I wake up in a film noir bedroom—
streetlamp shadows on my ceiling.

I dreamt not of being chased 
but of chasing, of attacking—
of taking primitive pleasure
from the feel of a face
under my fist, the taste
of someone else's blood
on my knuckles,
the satisfying slish of a knife
penetrating a plump belly,
the recoil of a rifle
against my shoulder 
and the head of a stranger
in my sights exploding.

I stumble to the bathroom, 
flip the light, 
splash water on my face 
in the dirty mirror, 
hair estranged, 
stubble like tombstones,
I look guilty as hell 
and wonder out of which circle
that nightmare slouched.

(first published by Dark Sire in 2020)

Copyright © Bartholomew Barker | Year Posted 2025