Ode to dreams forgotten

The ebb and flow of words
within the silence of time;
heavy-headed, I sleep
in yellow dreams
At nine.

A space,
a kaleidoscopic sea;
as a passive smoker shrugs,
inhaling monotonic hours,
sweeping down with cartoon prophecy.

I am of course still sleeping,
rolling over ever-stifling time;
steady-footed, I sink,
in tender amnesia
At nine.