within the Dreaming
songs float by on the backs of
winged creatures,
time is an air too
light to be inhaled,
vision a fantasy of luminescent
eyes who reflect
a river of candles.
mind is a toy,
whose reason conjures
theories of desire, whose
want is a mystery never fully solved.
in the slow,
i awake in a rush,
wondering how one
might travel so far
and never leave one's self.
ghost
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