Beneath evening stars I do sit,

my head a softly sinking gentle wanderer,

explorer unto pathways of soon-dreams,

conscious sinking aboard a (to) sub,

waking and sleepy and wishing to be sleeping,

sleeping, sleeping, sinking, deeper,

lower

among soon-dreams thoughts more unrestrained,

I am a dancer

and a flower

and a machine gun gunning with no noise,

conscious last lingering beneath the evening stars a

black garden of black flowers glistening with dew,

last lingering on the top of my forehead and in the tips of my toes,

hypnagogic dreams about me,

words escape me,

snugasabuggywuggywoozydootwothreefoursheepies

REM.