the mantelpiece in the hall tells the time
roughly zero o' clock
the space trains arrive on mile-long lines
i crawl within to the new age confines
nothing; passengers and no talk
nothing rhymes, no hours chime
paintings hung upside down
sight the ghostly nebulas
this place distills, it hands you the reins
the journey is far inside
who will you be?  who can you see?
what will it cost you to be a lie?
when you grow up it is tantamount
to the first death.  will you accept this
bargain: a closed mind?  will you ever
live a life that is not yours nor mine?

don't answer now,
you've started on the path that answers
to no human thoughts
but you'll see yourself on the way
see everyone on the way
continuing on the path
across the flat grey
continuing on a line
that was never meant for you
but at least you can see it, now.

after they shone their red fireflies
through my window, tracers in
my eyes, they took me down to
the basement dungeon, and told
me i'd broken all the rules.  die,
or be excommunicated.  i chose
this way.  it is a lonely way.
ten thousand light years
you see things that you don't see
ambiguities that you don't believe
who sold the police?  who gave up
me?  but now they brought me outside,
they brought me free of this place,
and i don't need to believe.  faith is
a broken abstraction.  the truth is so
easy: it's just not about what we thought
it was about; it's about the words you
thought before you were born, and it's
standing outside the doorway of your
society, and always, always with you
when you are alone.  who dreamt we
could ever be so wrong?  but it's all
so plain.  all i thought, all i ever thought
is true in partialities, formalities no
longer necessary as all around me
thoughts and logic whirl as dust,
a million suns and moons, patterns
of the Art, these are the voice of
voiceless dreams, these are the
worlds spoken in the slightest looks,
they are the failures of human
control.  what thought has not yet
been sold?  this is the collapse of humans,
while the Universe laughs.
this is the wind that gutters
and whispers through the room.  the
walls rattle.  the English candles go
out.  what spirit was alive?  mine.
which thought was evicted?  none.

don't believe me: the place is there.  i
don't doubt what i've seen.  there is nothing
like it, ever.

 - "dreams," connelly barnes 2006-08-11