Gaudy, gregarious girls
gyrate, dance in my dreams,
a gang of gelatin cubes unleashed
from their molds. I welcome
their movements towards me.
They call my name. They sing songs,
silver syllables half-spoken, half-sung,
verses and choruses full of verve
and vigor. They motion me to join them,
share in their soaring stanzas, but I
just stand in awe of the spectacle,
pull my blankets tight around me.
I’ve no fear of their fervor, but of my own
feelings, my own wont and will to follow
them back to the dark from which they came.