Self-examination: Sapphire Nightmares, Indigo Ink on Pages
By moving closer in my self, I learn.
A dream or nightmare rises from the deeps
As in the night I move in nearer, burn
Their meaningless meanings from dungeon keeps
Of soldered down subconscious. Sigmund Freud
Leans nostrils closer to inhale the mess.
He reads it like the tea leaves we avoid
In waking hours. Our night-time brains confess
(But only as we twitch and toss) the truths
That we have locked up uselessly inside
Our secret privies, in our smelly booths
Forgetting that the dreams there will confide
Their codes no matter what. In daytime true
White pages take distressed words, dark blue blue.