Deja Vu

I am the man who walks the dreams. I climb and crawl through door after door after window after door. Splinters and splinters and glass shards and splinters pieced into places I remember but have never been. Heavy eyes, red skys tint concrete walls and walls and bridges and walls. iron rails stretch far, glinting ribbon red, ready for the busyness of the emptiness. The sound of rustling wheat meadows flood from the nowhere that surrounds. Rose lenses shatter, silent.