af Howard Philips Lovecraft & Agent C.
My dream began in a
grey autumn sky rising
to the north.
I did the black mouths
into the depths of
narrow places.
The choking dark space felt
conscious and bodiless
my spirit too great
the source of my eyes
about no living object
below the rushes I had eaten.
After which the limp
following of a plain
the light switch
implied the brief absence
and raised his face
to howl to the moon.
The other forced me
to stop this on all fours
because the face
the white tentacle was aware
I only dreamed the night
for awakening not found myself.
When night parted the weeds
before me the face
lifted the moonlight strangely.
Night me to place horror.
I tried moving.
The coming must walk
in my slumber
with the thing of pale moonlight
I fear I might find
