A rub off dreams still unsettles
me – my day itches & positions
left over from my unruly night
blister my thinking – as if sleep
is any sort of cure [wickedness
patrols in my night submission
of rest] – a return to blankness
would not be a curse – Erasing
of memory-clots a solution to
this woken discomfort [a pill &
all recent tragedies gone] – we
can’t work out why dreams lie