I was moving about the city. I’m sorry I missed your call, Adam. I was moving through burned out forests, flayed carcasses and old men. Rivers, too. At flood. I was moving about them in torrents. I was moving about what I was moved to say about them.

I was moving about a high school volleyball match, skirts and skins, girls and boys. I wasn’t moving about an ambulance, strapped in, saying sorry for being alive. I was moving about a shrine in the rain. My sister, or maybe a woman, was somewhere. The sheets were bloody. I was sliding in and out of CT scans, apologizing for being. I wasn’t moving about that night. The EMT said, “Mostly we deal with assholes.”

My father needs to hear something that will tear him apart again.

I don’t know where I’m moving. I’m in the ER now. I was on the sidewalk then. I went down for a smoke. I was moving about lore of young men with toothless skulls, photographs of snipers in the Devil’s Den. I was moving above the trailhead. I was moving along wet trails fast. (She always was a crack shot.)

I saw families of dead. I was moving about wild boar and the men who ate them. I was moving, unable to leave. Things keep coming and going back, the dead, that match, a tunnel where the girls are kept for the matches (they have better technique, but they always lose). I was moving about a book with an I-V drip and a blood-panel tox-screen. I know because of the hole in my arm.

I was moving about some heavy forestation. Two women went insane. I take them to school daily. Something bad happened — in English.

My father was moving about my dreams. He couldn’t stay in or out. Now I’m moving about the city with crates of food for an old Russian. How we came to be here, moving about — it’s just foul, unmentionable.

Two years ago, maybe three, the boy wasn’t dead, only dying. He was born without muscles. Once a month I throw him down the staircase for good measure, sinking fishhooks into his cheek. Bodies hang like pennants in a gym where the kids play ball. There’s a subtle depression in the floor. I’m riding someone’s knee. I’m free to move about the cabin now.

*[Transcription (and re-shaping) of a nightmare immediately after waking from it.]