New Poem - Oneironaut

Hey.

Here's a new poem (but super cool Patreon folk got to see it first - you should totally be one of them)

ONEIRONAUT

You.  You till

That fertile lie:

What you, sensate,

Clarify as your self-sure

Surroundings,

Is binding. True. 

Persistent.

There are ghosts

Suffering

Between the minute

Atoms

Of your unswept floor.

The screen

To which you fixate

In hazy surrender

Is not static;

Rather, its canvas

Tears draft upon draft

In rapid succession

Yet the eye

Betrays witness.

The night is a malleable clay.

The day, likewise.

I have seen

Plastic drinking straws

Pierce the hide

Of a brutish white birch tree.

I have crept, silent and custodial, into my mother's dreams.

I straighten the dream-table.

I discard the dream-waste.

I launder the dream-garments.  Hang them to dry on the dream-patio.

And

In my own

Frequent confrontations

With the wizened

Night-Incubus,

I act as script supervisor.

Surely,

I challenge,

you've realized

This character,

My father,

Has expired. 

My skin

is not wire-shackled;

An airplane

Cannot guest

A serpent,

Three-headed, rapt

With hunger.

I rub my hands together.

Cradle the dream-beasts.

Mash their form into

A microphone

Or a talk show

Or a bookstore

Or a soundstage

Or a theatre.

I do not accept their false face.

Rather,

I craft another,

Shadow following shadow.