Fever Dreams (a poem)

I wake in a cold sweat
Another fever dream, it seems
Before the dawn of innocence
And the theft of the ancient city –
As above, so below, that’s how
The stories of old always go

I dreamt of my father, his weary
Face, as he robbed the temple
And flipped over tables
Of the money-changers,
Like a backwards Jesus,
Taking gold coins and shoving them
In tattered pockets of lore

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