Pysanka

Who is asking?
I'm not here

Barren as a pysanka
with all it's early promise
hunted by a serpent
and found wanting

Still quite hollow
If you tap me

Weird Dreams Part II

So I'm lying on this bed, right. Surrounded by photographers and agents and hangers-on. Because that's what I do, like. Being Gisele and that.

Through the window I see two dogs prowling. Rabid grey hounds, eyeing me up hungrily. I don't understand why, it's not like I'd make a very meaty meal. Suddenly everyone has left and I'm half-naked and windowless. The dogs make a run at me, snarling, I can see them baying for my blood, I can actually see it in their eyes, yeah? So I sprint out the door, sweat beading on me and stand out in the street. I can tell I'm their rabbit , but I stand still a while, terrified beyond reason, as the black one with the torn ear steps near.

Fuck. Now I'm swiping, battering with. What's this? The cardboard innards of a toilet roll? I kill one. It drops to my feet, the blood spurting-out, flowing and curling round my bare toes.

I'm running. Being pursued, feeling jaws clenching and nipping at my ankles I turn and furiously stab at the other one. I'm hitting his head hard, I hear his skull crack. In terror I turn a corner and grapple my way up a hill. I'm standing in the street in what looks like the Desperate Housewives set and noticing specks of dog's blood staining my slip, pesky stains.

A limping beast rounds the corner. It's snout is hanging off, it's scarred carcass shows the wounds of battle. I could have left it there. Walked away.

But I run back and kill it, smash it apart with the cardboard tube, leave a corpse in my wake.