Whorl

he was but a man
freed by a dreamy mess
the ringing war cry
of a man born in darkness

this one man is awake
while the others sleep
he is blind like all of them
but he can still see

he can see in his mind's eye
the color of the sounds
he can see the shades of death
and the poison in the sky

what woke him up was a dream
of his tongue stuck in a hole
a hole that dripped and squelched
as he tried to drink it all

the clear water, the catalyst
the pool of life, the whorl
that spun and spun, like a third eye
pulling him away from whispered lies

---
Whorl (2 of 3)

spiral

far away in a field made of gold and green
girls with butterflies in their hair pick up dreams
swollen with desire and fallen on the ground
they bite into each dream and pass them around

thick dream juice coats their mouths and chins
they giggle with joy and their laughter starts to sing
fingers dripping with the ichor, they lick the digits dry
overwhelmed with joy some of them even start to cry

these girls with butterflies in their hair
they're addicted to dreams and they simply don't care
where the dreams come from, to whom they belong
they just want the dream juice, they long for its song

beneath the earth in cryo-chambers, an army of men sleeps
kept alive by technology, a thousand machines beep
their eyes plucked from sockets, fucked up and drugged
they dream of the day when they will be unplugged

--
Spiral (1 of 3)