Night Work

My dream suggests I am ready.
Wild parrots fly,
perhaps a quick shot of the future.

Night work never seems to make sense,
instead presents
a mixture of various voices.

They speak past tense,
as if caught by an ancient Hubble
that looks far back,
clearly,
to a long lost present.

Moreover, if the platform is steady,
support is lent
to those who decry the future.

I, myself, take joy
to walk on two legs as a man
and to take a fix

from nicks
cut by hand in a forest of ancient trees.