Dreams
Disjointed, fractured,
Dreams entangle
The sleeping mind,
Leaving tentacles
That insinuate themselves
Into twisted realities
Of feverish thoughts
That question our senses.
The waking dream of
What we see and hear
Is but one part of
Our assembled lives
That weaves itself into
Our muscles and bones
And tells us what is truth.
At night we shapeshift
Into other beings and
Tell ourselves that
What we think we know
Is naught but lies,
And, when we wake,
We’re haunted by the
Half-remembered shadows
Of our sleeping selves.
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