Sandman schleps silently
Through my mind
A benign tumor. . .
Harmless, and not meant to be
A stoic flower girl
Drifting through wispy fog
His bony, gnarled hands
Emerging from his frayed cloak
And sprinkling his silvery sands
(Like coke or PCP)
Into my grey-pink, fleshy brain
An invitation for my subconscious
To reign in a world as
Insubstantial as mirage

Sleep creeps and skulks
Inconspicuous in yawns and sighs
Dreamland gropes and grasps
Gaining leverage
Smothering my awareness
Making me dumb, deaf, blind, mute
Closing my windpipe
Asphyxiation by nightmares
Tangling themselves about my neck
Like heavy, invisible ropes
Rubbing my neck raw,
Clogging my throat
Like glistening spider webs
A gossamer gag
To quell my cries

And I become
A shell for nighttime chaos
A shelter, stage, playground
For my fears and hopes
Ghosts of thoughts
Who frolic and play
Reenacting scenes from daylight
And imprinting the backs of my eyelids
With loathsome graffiti
That will follow me back to reality
Despite the suns scouring rays
In the morning light
When Sandman retreats