And the sandman said
Well you might have heard,
Dreams begin, scandalously, as sordid nothings.
They await, like phosphorous flowers, for the dark night,
And perhaps, I’d like to believe,
The cool touch of moonlight,
Before they burst,
And around, until, they paint the inside of your skull
The colour prism.
And so it is like coming upon a film,
That you know you like, and without trailers or ads,
And because, there is no one there,
You step up to the screen,
Tentative and alone,
And without pause,
Walk right through it.
No need to look at me like that,
I have heard that not many remember that step.
And then you arrive in a place, its colors bleary and bright,
Where darkness substitutes for lights,
And emotions, for plot devices.
Fear, falling freedom,
Reeling across the mind’s sky,
It is said that you fly,
And meet strange people,
And hear true things,
And wet yourself laughing,
And find yourself crying.
There are houses big and dark and populated
By memories and friends,
And both long gone.
There are skeletons of places, that you have been,
And here the marrow cuts,
Until you bleed,
And you see, the blood running deep.
Here you find companions,
As fragile as they are few,
That speak the same sad language,
And die with the morning too,
Here things tend to creep,
And move along sideways,
And here things tend to keep,
No promises lightly.
And here you sometimes sleep,
And wake up,
And here you tend to die,
And wake up,
And when the light invades your eyes, this all ends,
And dream is shown to be, a bright, cobwebbed thing.
Lying on a road, slowly dying.
Dissolving like an alka-seltzer, fizzing into nothing.
And confounding you with a drink, that you then mistake for
I’ve updated my About page too, with a list of stories.
I will add all my short stories soon.
And of course I love Morpheus, especially when his hair was black.