Outside the Gas Station

last night i dreamt
that i was leaning up against a gas station wall
the stars spun themselves into a pattern
that formed the skeleton of piltdown man

i felt all of my energy    driven out of my veins
like blood seeking refuge in nothingness

the new sky stood almost fictional
like the moment between pulses 
when you feel the possibility of death

    bones    even bones that never existed
    even bones described as ancestral and sacred
    by the mouth of a petty dictator
    the stars seemed dried as dessicated wood
    i wonder if my very own bones still glisten
    if the world still pumps alive outside of sleep

from Trump Tics (2020)