Strait-laced couplets
stripped bare
revealing smooth stones
of well-worn words
in this peculiar sliver of
hypnopompic time
the dream speaks in a lost language
foreign yet familiar to my ears
i dance to its borrowed song
but two left feet are all I have
sleep i tell myself
my duty is to the dreams
they whisper the forgotten stories
hidden and buried between layers of lies
but they multiply faster than flies
is this song the buzz of flies or
might it be the buzz of bees
turning shit into honey
not even god knows
such is my blasphemy
the lines on the page attempt
to contain the tired, the trite and untrue
but the words stumble and tumble
upon themselves
they once knew their own names
but sigh with regret as they forget
sleep they must sleep
to restore and then perchance
to land as best as they can
as I dream of paper and pen