In the dream br the swastika is neon br and flashes like a strobe light br into my eyes, all colors, br all vibrations br and I see the killer in him br and he turns on an oven, br an oven, an oven, an oven, br and on a pie plate he sticks br in my Yellow Star br and then br then when it is ready for serving— br this dream goes off into the wings br and on stage The Cross appears, br with Jesus sticking to it br and He is breathing br and breathing br and He is breathing br and breathing br and then He speaks, br a kind of whisper, br and says . . . br This is the start. br This is the end. br This is a light. br This is a start. br I woke. br I did not know the hour, br an hour of night like thick scum br but I considered the dreams, br the two: Swastika, Crucifix, br and said: Oh well, br it doesn't belong to me, br if a cigar can be a cigar br then a dream can be a dream. br Right? br Right? br And went back to sleep br and another start.