It’s not you: it’s antimatter.

if the noon sky darkens

more than all

the world’s shoulders,

I notice nothing—

      or a sad street:

      bruised artery,

      fence of broken teeth,

   and a cloud

   carrying my

   shadow’s basket.

a dog face looks at me and

      bark! bark! bar—

I stop,

and wait for a door.

there it goes:

   (is nightmare really a black horse?)

even outside of dreams,

my cat says   ha

      I am the king of your jacket