The Dream

kneeling on the living room floor

Of my grandparents house

Scalpel in hand

Thin but long incisions

In the huge naked man

Worrying about the carpet

I don’t want to ruin it

The incisions start to create

A form of picture

This poor guy

He may already be dead

But this shouldn’t be happening to him

From the kitchen

Grama yells

“Dinner”

Looking up from my current incision

I see the corpses face

Horror upon horrors

It’s me

I’m performing surgery

On my own dead body

Trying to correct its flaws

None of the work matters

I’m already dead

I can’t fix anything

As I get up to go eat dinner

With my long passed grandmother

I wonder how

I’m going to get rid

of the corpse of myself

before it starts to stink

and ruins my grama’s carpet.