Summer/Fall 1997 • Vol. XIX No. 3/4 PoetryJuly 1, 1997 |

God Comes in a Dream to Cure a Suppliant

I After they stripped me, they tied me in my chair I love to come home to, the frayed rocker we keep since my wife bought it for me, "an old man's resting place," when I was thirty. All right, I'm stalling, here it is, what happened next: they lifted black hoods from two cages, slid up the doors of each. I screamed, the rat and cottonmouth were at it in a second. The rat clawed the snake, I saw insides spurting out. They were milky, I started to cry in the dream which I knew was a dream and knowing made no difference even when I got hard: the snake caught the rat at the scruff of the neck and broke it and began after the rat's scream to eat it, inch by inch. I told you: I was hard. I came. This was my night.

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Afterwords

By Peter Cooley

I After they stripped me, they tied me in my chair I love to come home to, the frayed rocker we keep since my wife bought it for me, "an […]

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