Tiger Hunting with Gregg Allman Last Night

I don’t hunt, and

I don’t know Gregg Allman.

But, in the dream,

I was hunting

with Gregg Allman.

We had

to climb to the top

of a big mountain.

We were hunting

for tigers.

We had no guns.

Gregg only had a

big nasty-looking knife.

Our guide,

who had no face,

Instructed us

to lie on the ground,

back to back.

He said to stay still,

the tigers would come.

They did,

about half a dozen,

And they all

laid down beside me,

and the guide with no face,

and Gregg Allman.

We made like we

were asleep.

Gregg Allman was ready

with the nasty knife.

Then the guide

with no face shouted,

“Now!”

He said that

Gregg Allman should

stab the closest tiger, right

in the jugular.

So he did.

The Tiger was not happy.

He reeled around and

he staggered around,

bleeding out of his neck

until he was dead.

The other tigers had run off.

Then, we all went

into a little house.

Maybe the little house of

the guide with no face.

He never said.

We took off our shoes,

and sat for a nice

cup of tea.

I could not help but

notice, that Gregg Allman

had apparently also

stabbed something that

looked like a beaver,

which was lying there,

in a heap, with a

hole in its neck,

dead as a doornail

on the little house floor.

I took a sip of tea,

and I wondered,

Where the hell was I

when that happened?