When Do I Wake Up?

The lens has changed and now I see everything in a new distortion.
I am tied to a table, pumping a bag-valve
and helping the countless cadavers breathe.
There's a room in my pocket, with men and women walking on hardwood, voices echoing
Panther-black sinuous animal shapes sliding at the edges of my vision
The cat becomes a fiendish lynx, waiting for me to turn my back
And this morning when I woke up there were ants in my skin.
It occurs to me to wonder what would happen
if I folded in half in order to save space and increase efficiency.
I want to carve angles where there are curves,
make marble where now is plush, and renovate
my whole operation.
I can tell you, when it happens,
the result tastes better than sunlight.