Alan Catlin

Strange Visit

Lost somewhere in that limbo
place where dreaming meets
a total drunk, the two fusing into
one, overlapping the way loose skin
does on top of what lies beneath.
She comes, then, as half-human,
half-apparition in that hour before
dawn in the bar, lights down,
only the EXIT signs clear and well
defined. Certainly not the place
where her eyes should be
in the tarnished back bar mirror.
Nothing but shadows
and dust and flakes where her face
should be, where vision has lost clarity,
nothing as it should be and what moves,
does so fast and almost formless
just below the horizon
on the edge of sight,
beckoning as it does so,
for all to follow
to that place
where she is going,
where all dreams end.

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