Do not speak
let what fumbles
between heartbeats
become eternally written.

Do not shake
allow the shivers
to withold nothing
and you will glide
through winters unmasked.

There are doorways
do not open them,
do not turn knobs
until your own door
has broken hinges.
(to open before
would nestle
dream demons
into your ears
that claw at rivets
and clamps)

There is a field
do not disturb it
for its blades are wise
and its trunks full.
Instead
imprint
indulge
imitate.

There is a gallery
do not observe it
do not foresee anything
in what you decipher
as artforms.
Shut
          your
                       eyes
           and
sit.
(meet the man
who roams dimensions,
time space and galaxies,
he is in there,
he is sitting.)

There is a curtain
do not draw it shut
do not hide
your sleeping skin
instead
imprint
indulge
imitate

There is a slumber
do not meet it.
It has faces of you
crackling to trickling
to prickling to
dawn.

If you meet your slumber
under heavy stokes,
humming REMs and
Radioheads,
light a candle for the next
and plant a headstone
for the unwilling.
(take with you
what shoots
through
hallways
branding
landing,
sanding,
straight
to your
arms.)

When you wake
do not grumble,
do not crawl under
warm fabrics that hug
your rebirth with sun-sent
scents. Instead,
imprint,
indulge,
imitate,
and
rise
up.