the elasticity of dream
winds down into taut reality

a fickle goddess
in both wants and needs
the smooth touch of her hand
delicate, yet daunting

like a fine-shafted syringe
plunged sharply through bone
piercing and shattering
the walls of sense; of sensibility
yet seemingly comforting
  drip...
   drip...
    drip...
it flows beneath the skull
replacing life's elixir
in its own cloud of obscurity

it is what has become
but, what has become?

a struggle to recall
to ever know what was felt
and what was dreamt

sanctity shattered in illustrious illusion
glossed over in half-assed effort
with remnants of tangibility
of...palpability

the touch is gone now
supplanted only by inexact hollowness
an anonymous fix of raw anesthesia
slowly severing nerves
from the centrality of self;


numb.