Death to Dinosaurs

Death to dinosaurs is what I see
in my dreams, and it seems
fair to care why they die.
Large and leathery, wheezing,
stumbling, falling, and then
melting away. Vanishing.
They chased me, and I hid one of
the dogs they wanted to eat.
It felt like the right thing to do.

I don't know how to make sense
of these places, these dinosaur
faces, fading away over
entertainment centers.
They're random, they say.
They're the future, they say.
It's gray to me, and still it seems
to be something I somehow knew.
A place no less real than you.

In a land where dinosaurs die, or
tornadoes fly, or a land where
I'm still in school, how do I know
where my home is? What a home is?
What is true?
And if that passes as a home there, then
how do I remember to care? In those places,
with those faces. Fading. Dying now.