This sleep has sunk to catacombs
Where dreams are dreaming of themselves,
And where they slump to deeper shelves
A dim and voiceless banshee roams.
Interlopers jostle memory,
And pressing on his signet ring,
Take on the seal of realer things.
Truth’s rejected for hyperbole.
Delusions stack in strata, drowned,
Lives never lived, in parallel,
That puzzle sleepers who can’t tell
Where waking lies, so lies confound.
