I awoke from a dream on the first day of summer. I dreamt I killed a man by the hammock, he bled and bled profusely. The sun has nearly melted its surroundings, the blood boils and reeks of iron. The phone rang on the wall, pale, clean, loud. I've got the gun! and fired it. it struck his chest with such precision, like a ******, tearing through his skin, then his pectoral muscle. He dropped like a an anchor into a body of warm water and fell flat with a thud, a diver striking the surface, eyes fixed on the screen, expressions stoic on the faces of anxious opponents.
To the style of Robert Bly's "A Dream on the Night of First Snow"