Make expressed
how it feels?
Cream of the crop-circle!
You're dreaming.
No - I'm dreaming.
That of which dreamers
are made to wear.
Such is the subject-matter.
Caught myself in a land-slide.
I believe in the uphoria of it.
A dream-life state, thought I experienced
such matter-of-fact. . . happiness less than imaginable.
A last gasp
at the breath-of-life
worth living.
I could not resist
the escaping-protest.
Economically sound am I not
to be introduced as entitled.
In my wildest fears I imagine happiness
as I only dreamed of it.
Uncontested, perfect in thought.
All on the pretense of being well-liked enough.
That need of a burning desire for it from within.
The hot-commodity machine stalls,
the sensation of bank-notes $.
Bragging of my fingernails as I cut and trim.
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