The Recurring Dream
By Jack Brummet
I drag my wooden leg
Up a shattered staircase,
Across sagging boards
On a crumbling porch.
Light filters in
Through banks of cloud and fog
Radiating in waves from
A cockeyed half moon.
I hear sounds
In the dark basement.
The door is locked.
I twist the knob.
The door groans open.
I take a deep breath and shuffle in.
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