An Altogether Different Slumber

I dream in ones and zeros,
in an ease of dormancy,
within the midnight dim.

Language confounds me at dawn –
I wake with ideology,
convictions trailing my lips, trailing
from my mouth’s corner
like a line of blood on the sheets.

The window’s dialectic light
falls across concepts.
In a non-nocturnal, notion-laden, altogether
different slumber,
all the stinging abstract
words are nightmares.