The Land of Nod
Sleep is the main from which we drift
each waking day, bubbling with principium individuationis.
What was the dream about? Some rift
we fell down. You were in the dark, groping to piss
And found yourself suddenly lighted, watched
By a viewing audience dim of feature?
Even the physicist is patched
And pickled in sleeptime’s thralling curvature.
“The mode of dealing with the atoms to restore motivity
is essentially a process of assortment”
- all demons slip off their positivity
and join as one oceanic neural deportment:
in that bath of ESP
I am you and you are me.