The truth about myself
only comes to me in dreams
I get blindsided by a turning wheel
and dance music from the other side
of the glass panels shielding my sleep
Did the constant beat burst
from the conveyor zooming by?
Or were they two fleeting moments
in conjunction
meeting only in my eardrums
But was it the man-made comet passing by
with its foreign or native music blaring out
what made me rise this starless morning night?
Or was it the aching on my swollen jaw?
From an impulse motion, a thoughtless grind
I never know what these moments mean
what caused what or what met on the scene
much like anything else, I can't tell you
not for sure, at least
so I'll protect the truth from being stained by my lips
