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Michael McGuire
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Sleeping and Dreaming
Oiling the mechanics of the motion,
Wasting the motion of machine,
How many raindrops are in the ocean,
How much sleep inside the dream,
Vivid and vicious meaning stalk fresh prey,
The renovated morning grooms in an unfocused mirror,
Presents an unfinished night to the day,
And in this neutral light has lost the star to steer her.
Lost inside uncertain mechanics of time and tragedy,
Memories spent deeply and have not the worth of money,
The virgin artic drift of pandemic egos; vying for market place affections,
The ghost of Freud falls asleep trying to interpret this dream,
Is there any mode of being that could defy this mode of seeming,
It's a war of one and the winner will mate with the loser,
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And the traffic is sanctified by the magnitude of the destination,
But the art of possibilities is found obscene for lack of graphic substance,
And nowhere is much to far away to be considered a place,
And this dream is much to close to be a distinction.
No matter which way you turn you can feel the breath of the ghost behind you,
You can let the sleep repair you or the dream unwind you,
Life can not be proved only lived and we can only scatter the dust and drink the moon,
It's just a different way to get to the same place; one way late and one way soon.
Keeping the focused whisper of earth and animal, Buried in the axis of the middle-land,
With an ambition that needs sleep and a will that needs a dream,
Your life will finally collapse into a stand.
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