I keep telling myself that they’re only harmless dreams,
But every night I learn that these are empty words.
They’re there again, in the cemetery across the street—
Policemen, their sirens flashing red in the dark
as they dig up graves. I know they’re searching
for something to accuse me of. And they laugh—

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard them laugh
late into the night. They pursue me through my dreams,
ghouls in blue uniforms that never tire of searching.
Pleading my innocence is useless. There are no words.
They trap me in their lights as they pass me in the dark
and smile, their squad cars creeping down the street.

I have to look over my shoulder, walking down the street.
Down an alley I hear a dusty laugh
but see only an outline, the glimmer of a badge in the dark.
My life has been invaded by my dreams.
The sides of buildings are covered with illegible words
addressed to policemen, constantly searching.

I worry what they might uncover with their searching.
They say I killed a man on the street—
left him lying dead. I can’t accept their words.
I protest, call them liars, but they only laugh.
I tell them that it happened in my dreams,
and how can I help what I envision in the dark?

They gather “evidence” against me, working well past dark.
Their whole lives are devoted to their searching.
I’ve become deathly afraid of my dreams.
A surveillance van is parked a little down the street
Where they’ve been listening to my calls. I should laugh,
but it isn’t funny. I’m paranoid about my words—

That they may somehow convict me with my own words.
Who knows what they might over-hear in the dark?
They might plant some drugs. It makes me sick how they’ll laugh
if I accidentally confess to something. Their searching
is driving me crazy! They’re across the street,
digging up bones of people I’ve never met—even in my dreams!

The clocks all laugh. Both day and night are dark.
My tormentors are searching through my words for bloodstains.
I am followed down every street I walk down in my dreams.