the juxtaposition of dream and right
never is found in a person's snide sense,
rather, it is seen in the inkblack night
where inequities and doubt recompense
one for another is simple enough
for you to feign drastic in simple sun,
if thought is a shirt, then dreams are its cuff
fastening quick to desires on the run
whe one's traverses relentlessly pile
shut thine eyes, and escape to poor man's bliss
escaping from ruts of doubt and denial,
and all strange simple retractions you'll miss
far more appealing is shutting reason
travelling deep, in any true season