perception slowly escapes as I lay entombed in sheets and pillows the comforting scent of clean serves up rememberances of childhood helps relax into slumber
an overhead fluorescent flickers dim light strobing the darkened room like flashes of a summer storm lingering on the edge of perception miles distant before even the rain taste can reach before the air gets heavy
a dream rides forth and settles in for the night
a old old man standing in the desert the noon sun a hammerstroke that has no end he wears a simple robe leans on a thick wood staff
it is just perception that seperates us from being a dream within a dream and when that perception fails they say its maddness
mumbles into his grey beard in a long dead language his back bent by a heavy western wind
gone are the days the old mans family held him close to their hearts gone are the salad days when he was loved
now the desert has claimed him
now the desert is his lover, friend, his everything