PROLEGOMENON TO THE END

Dispatch from the Dreamfield

Sleeping still but stirring. Muted intimations hinting.

Soon, when the knowing animal within awakes

Alarmed by not yet detectable quakes

It will send up warnings in dreams

Not in tweets, headlines, or bits of sound.

Reeling, we will seek to flee the entreating screams.

Too late then. Too late now.

We did not listen.

Panicked by the enveloping ineluctable reality

Our conscious mind will slip away into uselessness.

Nothing unites us or binds us into a keening herd

Like terror.