In a dream, a room
gaped open, drawing people
inside by whispering
in a strange, mysterious
voice as a clammy,
foreboding and forbidden
coldness surrounded,
knocking upon the door:
everyone tried to answer.
I stood silently, witnessing
as a glow in the darkness
issued judgmental daggers
from cross-eyed stares
manipulating inhuman
fascination with irascible,
irrational phobias.
The inhabitants spoke
of battling with gray
dread, and an ache grew
from their core, welling
up in their icy fingertips,
which were commanded
by the stalking eyes
to point by proxy.
A cantankerous cancer
spread instant infection
in worldly, combat-oriented
minds, acquiescing
to illogical and unscientific
platitudes which demanded
adherence to empty,
elitist notions.
In the pit of insecurity,
someone tried to prove
objective reality while
interjecting subjective
points of view as mere
interpretations of facts;
but the act of observing
or codifying anything
as fact, interjected
subjectivity, in the process
destroying objectivity's
momentary presence.
The layering of suburban
sheets, inscribed with physical,
moral, religious and governmental
laws, across a planetary landscape
populated by individuals,
who by implementation
of those laws faced conformation
to cultural norms and lost
all sense
of themselves
and wonder, devalued
nature until every
perceivable conception
discovered itself infected
by the same spreading
cancer which ate away
at individuality:
uniqueness died
a quiet, stillborn
death undanced.
In the dream, I cast
off my stubborn
clothing, discarding fate
and caution
to the cancer's grasp
as I swam beyond
the last harbor buoy,
until the room opened
as the doors exploded,
allowing everyone to flee;
but only I chose freedom.
Inside the dilapidated
room, quicksand sucked
at the Earth, drowning
the planet in the white
cancerous sand
of ignorance
and vision narrowed
into a pin hole's width,
while I soared
in the vast, uncharted
universe of impossibility
unfettered by attachments
to cancerous dreams.
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