Sleeping the world away,
whether night or day.
Desorbing the humour of wars
and Cinderella’s floors,
with dreams of stranger lives.
Outside the fault line thrives.
As she sings me into word,
Awakening seems too absurd
to pass up tales of faces,
smiling, frowning, but still with traces
of what is who I am:
a life of toast and jam.
Then, lonely tears of stir,
incarcerated blur,
define the changing theme.
Things are now what they seem,
without a fix of god.
Run, catch the land of nod.
©2011 Hey Hey
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