Formerly we drew upon the senses to
orchestrate uncommon evenings where
words made a stand, shapes were
epic-like, and color performed as well.

These days, shamans and dying saints
are home-schooled, keeping to a limited diet
of knowledge. Ascendant absurdities make
a brief appearance on refrigerator doors, while

we dress for bed in decade-long habits. The sleep
of dreams has an ending, where delusion wakes to
delusion, inherits the buried memories of masks of
every sort, and complexity has another day in the sun.

DB 2009