Dreams.

A prayer.

In the Temple of my mind,
Dreams rise like incense
to a leering divinity
who squats, uninvited,
comfortable.
Songs,
harsh and sleep-cracked,
mock their own becoming,
turn the grinning god
in writhing delight
and cover me in shame.
Let my songs run pure
like clear springs,
wash my nightmares
clean
to dream of truth and beauty.
Sanctify the Temple of my mind.