Goodnight

Back on the hewy cot,
The eye within the eye, looks at the eye.
The difference between the worlds;
Tiles that float as a fall from the ceiling and the plaster from the floor.

"It's a good night's sleep" I remind my poor memory;
As everything is torn in the waves of the breaking calm,
The Calm so still, immute and full of tirade,
Like a saboteur from the land of Cold winds and Warm fluids.

Takes me by chance on everything I say,
If I must, then I must not;
The fate in me musters not,
To make it a must in the Must of the seasons;
For I have none of the must to offer, if I must.
Thus, take it by the dust if you must.

Maybe, it still is a good night's sleep.
The tiles and plaster now in an array of erotic passion;
the dust in my mind calling for freedom.
I tell them, that one day they shall be free.
One day, the dust may swirl again.
But, today. As the world is made and made not

in it's mold.                                      Would it stay?
No, surely not.                                but the world is working for the dust!
No dust there must be surely.           We but are, all, nothing but dust.
Too much dust. Must you dare?       I will Must like a mammal if I must.


Goodnight.

For those, who love the Morning Gray Sun.