About ten hundred years have slipped away.
I do not know the time or place, nor how
I could watch my life turn into yesterday.
But that is history. I must, somehow,
Awaken from this slightly altered daze.
I amble here and there, smiling at birds.
My life has become a trite paraphrase
Of dreary adjectives and sloppy words.
I always thought my life would be carefree –
Like an actor lost in laughter backstage.
Now I recognize that dreams are where we
Flail, in a bored apathetic rage.
   Dreams are helpless in their timeworn quest
   To launder this sober-wrecking unrest.