there is a small man
playing the didgeridoo
off stage in the darkness
a hum of z z z z z z z z z
to accompany my varied dreams

there is a distinctness
to each story but also
a hum-drum-ness
as if the imperial night
is shallow, unsure of itself

as I sleep
the silent conversations
and rationalities
creep around
they demand to be remembered

I am more comfortable
with conscience confusion
than this free for all
we forget our dreams
for good reason