The elaborate hoop lake dream
Comes tumbling down the mountain
Where have you been all these years?
The amnesiac returns from surgery
Which one goes in the peg?
He likes when you sing soft songs at midnight
But don’t ever say these three things
His mother didn’t, you see
She works for a demolition crew
So the poor idiot forgets the food he chews
Until it chokes him
Thus, he retired to this suite
To seek salvation from a breakdown
Every time he opens the door
She is staring in his face
And cleaving with a tapestry
Of beauty and disgrace
Go back to sleep my precious
He curls up in a ball
We’ll bounce you up and down the court
And let the ref make all the calls
When I need Sanctuary from all the conflicting Voices,
when I need Freedom from all of Life’s choices,
I join the Congregation.
Amongst my fellow beings, there is no white noise.
There is no consternation, and no one loses poise.
No Suspicion, Doubt or Insecurity.
All are One with Variety.
No one hurts me when I’m here.
No one judges; no one cares.
And I come and go as I please
with all the Rights that I dare dream.
Love is Eternal, as is Peace
on the inside, where all roads meet.
And it gives me Strength and empowers me
until my next visit to this Cemetery.
“Why can’t I sleep?” he asked the lord Morpheus.
And Morpheus responded, “Because you’ve run out of dreams.”
I rode out to the desert to meet The Devil
And he took me by the hand
He then pulled back my eyelids to show me
Exactly who I am
He showed me how to escape my pain
He told me where to go
Instead I chose to walk on through
I became blind as my eyes glazed over
My pupils white as snow
I dreamed of a land called Memory
But the signal was bad
Lots of interference
From a station called Futureland
Created ripples in Reality
I don’t know what is real
There’s too much distortion
Mixing crazy signals
From Nature and from Man
Each one fights for my allegiance
I wish they’d both just leave me alone
And so I am
With whispers on the wind
Haunting me as I speak to you
Whomever you are
Darkness crawls upon the wall
at the just right angle revealed to all
except in the hour of shadow play
when passions fling and black turns gray.
Then who laughs at the cringing doll
who pulled its strings and master down?
The clouds have frozen perpetually
diffusing the light in the puppet’s dream.