i dreamed

in it
i was a beetle
floating
upside down
in
a whiskey bottle

huffing ether
while reading kafka
in a quarantine
during
a global pandemic
in torn boxers
without cable
ignoring the news
the gas fires
the walking dead
the milling masses
aimlessly
pacing
back and forth
on threadbare carpet
in run down
apartments

yet
for a moment
i
was riding
amber waves of grain
in
a pockmarked bottle
from
a bootlegger’s secret stash
in my
shiny green
carapace

maybe
it was my subconscious
screaming
about drowning

or maybe

i shouldn’t
press that rag
tightly to my nose
breathing deeply
the cold metallic chill
of communism
in heavy gasps
of subversive
fiction

should’ve stuck
with red wine
and hank