My face is nailed to my skull

The production of dreams
is without end
each one combining elements of the previous
melodies layering over each other
in intricate fugue patterns
creating astonishing meanings
with shimmering dimensionality
and breathtaking depth

The memory of dreams
at the moment of awakening
a chorus of characters
from every drama
all gathered on stage
to take the final bow
all still in costume
each waving to me
the lost love
the treacherous friend
the kind mother
the laughing teacher
the ghost of the father

I turn away from them
with such reluctance
I will never forget
what you have shown me tonight
each and every one of you
masterful life changing scenes
of myth and magic

I open my eyes
to an empty room
conscious memory
like a bright light
destroying the subtlety
ruining the shade
the perfect evening moments
the reading by moonlight
the ecstasy in the soft blue morning
burned away
in the harsh sudden light of consciousness

my name clangs like a bell within me
my face is nailed to my skull
the room is revealed
as real as a grey brick

I try to hold on
recover some sigil, symbol, token
of the vast epic
that unfolded within me
throughout the night
and have only a single scene:

a drab waiting room
filled with the sick and the the bored
nothing to read
no images on the walls
at one end
a frosted window
behind which a shadowy figure
calls out names
in a tired voice

i only know that
each name
is another aspect
of myself