I woke to the sound of clashing coughing,
Woke – in the warm solidarity of my cold cold coffin,
The reverend had left his holy book for me to ponder
And wonder, as though there is a life left lying yonder.
He said, “there is hope for you yet.”

I wake myself because the blissful dream is too good,
And I would prefer to wake.
The feeling goes runny when the reverend returns –
To retract his lies...
To retract his heat...
And I am cold again.

I sleep tonight,
Because the foreseeable freeness of a future undeclined
unknowing Freudian fancies my mind will entwine
is bliss so extraordinary and a release in worldly bind
So sleeping is escaping;
I escape into my mind.