Dream World (unfinished?)

You avant-garde superstition
is a relentless anthem,
painted in magnificent strokes.
It pulls from the haunted evening sky
with deep purples of midnight.
It invades my too-fast cycle of thoughts
as I lie awake staring up at those dark heavens.
My heart trembles, spiraling, furious
underneath that star studded silk.
I listen to the acoustic caress of each sound,
each breath on the distant wind,
and let it guide me through the dark.
I gain a cotton candy peace of mind,
bubble gum pink,
and too sweet for any place but dreams.
Somehow in your railway navigation
you have bypassed my wounded feet,
dirty from wanton…