Words fall into dreams like waterfalls

at precipice, where flat earth fools

congregate in village halls

and ponder how to subvert schools

with grappling hooks cross playground walls.

 

It’s just a dream with raining words

no sense required in slumbered peace,

in forests where trees fall unheard

and kingdoms end yet never cease…

a rainbow’d storm of tumbling words.

 

To wake to jumbled alphabets like children’s

bricks beneath your feet,

where days begin lest you forget

your scattered consciousness incomplete,

then try to build a wall with them

that somehow has those two worlds meet.

 

Awake is just a dream reversed, turned

inside out and back to front

a replay of the unrehearsed you thought

you knew and didn’t want…but somehow

you could not resist so placed yourself

beneath its font.