Kingdom of Dreams

If sleep is the cousin of death
Am I its incestuous bedmate
Dreamer parallel drawn
I am the real worlds smoker, snorter, shooter
Call me addict

Windmill slayer

Don Quixote chasing dragons like
Spanish Harlem whores
In a fog of what may be
While what is becomes frayed image
Of television before high definition

Oh the irony

Street lamps become hazy moons
Corners become the tips of oil lamps
Women are just genies in a bottle
What planet do we reside on
I've never seen so many moons

Clock ticking becomes a psychedelic cadence

Jimmy Hendrick's drummer turns Picasso
He paints me the sound of the color blue
It feels like felt laid over concrete
Soft but firm
Like her voice

She always asked me if I was listening

What kind of dreamer answers that question
Her suitcase folded in on itself
Like buildings as my earth shook
Somewhere between first thought and deep breath

How long had she been standing there

Waiting for the world to spin
She should have never given it to me
That's the problem with reality
People always think it’s so real

It is no more tangible then the air we float on

In superhero slumber flying in our sleep
Using our unconscious minds to levitate
Before leviathan mothers wake us from our inception
The world will tell you that you are wrong

Sleep is the cousin of death

If we are all Kings and Queens of our sand castles
And time is only as constant as a tide
We must choose an incestuous heir
Before we are washed away

To be pure

And to maintain
Our dreams