I flicker into sleep
like a bad fluorescent.
Then, the drift, floating down.
Nothing said, nothing meant.
So ends the subway to dreamland.
In the bowels, in the dark,
below the city of my mind,
lurking in a world so stark.
In dreamland, random rules.
Any change can happen here.
A tiny flea bloats big,
the sum of all your fears.
No childhood toy is free
from being terror’s shill.
To dance you into darkness,
little Teddy fits the bill.
But here you can script flip.
If you can keep your sense.
You see the secret that few know,
your mind pays all the rent.
By B Gourley in Dreams, poem, Poetry, sleep on September 30, 2016.
