I woke
thought I heard
water gurgling

but it was just
an electric fan.

Mistake so
much these days

with all these
discontinuities

where the

whole
fabric of life

is frayed
is like a

seismic rubbing together of
just so many different tectonic plates.

In my dream I had a
scary, disjointed vision

whose only
redeeming feature was a tiny,
amicable talking cricket

the sky
the colour of mercury, full
of machines to
watch, assess, quality
assure
how well we are doing and
where needs be
dispense instant justice

but beneath this
tentative attempt at
total hive mind

the plates are chewing
and nothing you can doing
(so it went
that
Dylanesque protest song)

I still hear the fan which
my wife keeps switched on
(wondering if they might
not ghost into apocalyptic
Huey rotors

as in the film
as in the film)

unbearable heat, the Sun
having seemingly stepped up
its rich nuclear fusion

still gurgling like a
stream in my dream

where a

single cicada is singing.