Poetry Writing Dream

Chaos tends to worsen
breaks through
the variegated walls
of my mind and I
catch it before
the vegetation covers again.
That's how it is
when I see the
hairline spot of grey
in the milky white.
The surface
defends itself back to
its calming blankness
and I rejoice thinking
it has it's own strength.
Another day of
easy breathing passes.
Then returns
a slit containing
the writhings of tiny
things. Then it
buries the calm.
Then it overwhelms.