I awoke enwrapped salty in hot horror, sheeted in a writhing running, trapped like a bruise, a yolk... My eyes saw but a dark brain and its strobing film, and I was scared - scared as a beaten dog in the middle of the sea, shivering sweat as I choked uvula. How can I avoid such bitter-biting, fetus-folding, bile-tide lands of this slumber smother? Who's visions be these? Oh, but to lower the lids now would mean yet a return to the pupil's bleeding pillow, the heart beat's pounding bellow, my shirt a white flag flapping in surrender to my script... So, I turn over, counting lambs, their bahahahahaha a lullaby to my nerves, lumped like wool.