Live in the real
cries the voice at the bottom
of the dial. The sky
paints itself blue-black.
Small animals with teeth
race across the fields.
Stars are rising hot and white.
Pack your bags now
Listen for further
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john mann poems 
For grins I tried reordering the lines. I think it’s best, if possible to start with a stong visual image,
so “The sky paints itself blue black.” Is the place to start. Right away it’s ominous, which is the dominant emotion. The first sentence is a nice imprecation, almost evangelical in tone. I think it’s a great ending line. I’m not sure about “listen for further” because it is clever, and clever doesn’t always mix with dread. The poem is too short to be adding facets I think, or, keep it if you are fond of it