Sleep Crazy One Sleep

A nocturnal sorting machine clatters inside a skull. Images flit across closed eyes. A blind man works there, he is not the crazy one he’s just a working man, a projectionist, a time-puncher. Nerves are running on fumes, they can’t shut down to leave you flopping around in a non-sparking void. Not to ever dream leads to crazy; the kind of crazy that bumps into invisible walls. Look to where the moving pictures become hints and insights. Look up with that far sight water has in a deep well, There are surfacing zip codes that can lead you from one dream world to the next. Read with a crazy heart.