When is a dream not reality?

A setted carving, Written by privation Words that leak through unfilled ink Gawping empty between ridges. Then those canyon cliffs retreat again Back down to their weary plains Brothers undo brothers, as All plains worn away. And those letters of privation Are gone, as empty were their valley hollows Their hollow fame ungained. Vectors collide head into head, their Perpendicular paths to ruin Skidding, crashing, melting, bubbling, Paths fuse and fissure, which spitter into nothing. In death’s head shell, a poltergeist cackle A ghoul of concave echo walls It throws flaming cocktails to profuse undo And set alight the beams of memory. And knowledge stolid, solid meals, Waste to famine, thoughts To hollow dreams, not recollections, What deceit Are believed imaginations. Set alight those beams And worn down hollows of privation I am left with hollow dreams, Not recollections. What deceit Are believed imaginations.