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