The Dictator's Radio

the coffin that sleep contained
a car buzzes by like its eyes are closed

i remember the obvious
i hear something like a broadcast voice
i remember the dream last night
that told me to wake up
that predicted this morning in terrifying clarity

my eyes ache from the shrill light of dawn

    eyes drift down the sidewalk over
    paper cups of coffee    let’s hope
    that bloodshot eyes will remember themselves

    the dictator’s radio hangs from your ears

    each step cold    as if made in ice water
    your shoes coffins    your destination frozen

from Trump Tics (2020)