These static, formic dreams come in times of confused remembrance
It is never clear but brings a grinding feeling into my bones
Sticky rice, pine nuts and dusty spider webs
This one is faded into a sentence or two but the others allude
It is a pressing, a squishing, and a sandy taste in my mouth
I can see tan shapes, revolving and involving my entire body in a blink
I don't scream I gasp for life I fall in my dreams I grow a distinction