I Did Not Wake Up

Last night
I dreamt
Of a car crash
In front of
Tierra Mia Café.

As I wrote and
Smoked a cigarette
Beneath the
Summer sun,

I heard a loud
Crash coming
From the
Crooked street;

I did not wake up.

Instead, I instinctively
Ran into the street
Where the
Disfigured cars
Resembled Picasso’s Guernica;

I did not wake up.

In the middle of the
Congested street
I found
Your bloody corpse--
And a handful
Of Spanish poems
You had written for me;

But, no, I don’t believe
Anything Freud says.