Density

In a dream I become a butterfly.

.

Up,

and Up,

and Up I climb,

'til all the Ups turn down,

and black hole rings surround.

.

I drift amidst the molten veins,

of that weird womb of everything,

and look below the lowest peak,

and spy the mountain of my speech.

.

Wind biting.

Grating immensity.

.

Oh,

where the prose is casting shadows,

of great parables like towers,

and the idioms all sing.

.

Each word a lie of omission,

true meaning lost in translation,

still a dove hails them all

as meaning's king.

.

The writing,

illustrating entropy.

.

Oh,

the mind roses grow in meadows,

without petals like real flowers,

but their thoughts have wings.

.

Less is more with each addition,

so simple, defying dictation.

Above them I hang from a

threadbare string.

.

Knowing,

awaiting destiny.

.

Then I'm falling out of my brains,

back into my room, anchoring.

Will any believe what I speak,

of a thing even I can't now reach?

.

Down,

and Down,

and Down I fall.

'til all the Downs turn up.

Almost back, I'm bed-ward bound.

.

I wake with a sense

of Density:

.

Only dreams speak the language of the eye.