Life is like a less persuasive kind of dream
Things feel they are yet sometimes only seem
Making wonder if there is some real what to know
Or could it truly be there isn't any how
Why are others and might they be made up ?
Under the spell or all drinking from the same cup ?
Still mostly spent looking after new holes in context
Colliding words in hopes some turn out to be what was next
Everything can be imagined but not ever be grasped
Whatever else could in no way be more than swiflty gasped