The snow globe

Sleep, you great glass weight
Pinning me between the sheets
Lens on life without.


I really wish I could sleep for far longer sometimes. Hopefully there is something good to magnify in the life lived outside before the Sandman’s flakes begin to fall.
After all dreams are fueled by life on the outside like life imitates art which imitates life. At least I think I heard that once before.

I think the language spoken by ourselves to ourselves in dreams seems magical by virtue of its inaccessibility to the waking world apart from some distorted visual similarities. Of course our memories or my own at least are only as good as our memory in waking life when relating from the other side of the barrier. 

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