[ A wide, bell-shaped cathedral ]

A wide, bell-shaped cathedral
loomed large as I slept
over and over as it revived me

as I awoke
I flinched

The awoken.
A sweat poured from the breasts at the ribcage junction.

Dreams are like time, but I keep them anyways
confined within a glass beaker.
The dreams are awash
with preserved objects and beings.

Everything and nothing is there at night.
Symbols of unused love are both valid and invalid.

As an ever-repeating record, the Dream is
announcing alerts continuously,
in constant parody.

Such a nightmare would make anyone shiver.
Splits in two, strange

strangely glassy, erotic
tablecloths set into a chest.

 Or not, for life is a circus,

the tip: suss out the clown from the ringmaster.

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