A real fragment from a dream I had last night. Most of it simply flew away . . .

I woke up, quite intrigued with a poem I dreamed I’d saved safely on GW  ‘For Me’, thinking “I must edit that!”

Then I realised, as wakefulness intruded, that I hadn’t saved it – it was all in my dream.

Words and lines flew away – I pushed myself back into a sleepy state and sleep-walked downstairs, found a pen and wrote this down – a fragment of what I’d had . . .

Not the Kubla Khan, I know! But weirdness has no bettering! (for those who know me, 'Beardless has no lettering!) 

I think it’s about a dead soldier, but in my dream I was simply obsessed by ‘homonyms’, and ‘lies’ meaning ‘reclines horizontally’ or ‘untruths’ were swirling in my head.

I promise no opium or skillets of boiling milk were involved!

I didn’t even have Mr Porlock’s unwelcome knock on the door as an excuse for brevity!

Anyone else had this strange experience?

Cheers!

John X