Time forever turns and another fistful of dreams
I drag out the night. Half remembered, half relived
their messages slowly disintegrating with the day.
I left something of me behind when I climbed out
the night, part of my mind, part of the past, and
an assortment of shady characters one wishes never
to meet again in the flesh. This dreaming has purpose,
and secrets mimicking hopes and fears that rear up
having a life all of their own. A cleansing of the palette,
the blank sheet, to paint the dreams yet to be dreamt.