Every night in every dream
it quickly turns to evil
when the shrunken man
the evil imp,
or so does he seem,Begins the nightly carnival
of tortoruous delight
where in the feature act
is me.He forces me to float
above my bed and out
the window into the parade
of demon figurines,
made of glass.Renaissance necromancy
practiced in full
raises the dead
from my yard.I awake sweating
every time,
every night
all the time.