A City in My House

A city in my house lies in comfort

Blanket spreads with determination

Over earth’s moving immobility

So we can rest from blinks

Wide-eyed useful functions stall

The vista from plane’s altitude

Views a city half asleep, half nodding

Within natural darkness

And semi-sleeping houses

Is the city of my house

I navigate geography’s pencil marks

No hurtful eye blinders

Up the steps into the sanctuary

All is quiet now and still

So still paper's voice sounds screechy

No singing and dancing machines

Yet, I pause at unguarded entry

All at attention, saluting sharply

Caught unawares by resting machines

Who’ve quit singing and dancing

But would not, like humans, sleep

They stare unblinking, filled with caffeine

Pinpoints of light in the sky

As beauteous as the down view  

Forcing me to guess who was where

Making me guess what was near

These pinpoints of unnatural lights

Blink not as I blink not

--My dream has loved paper so much for so long because it gave influence to the parched voice of a fashionista poet. Finding this outlet, that voice is now replete with expressive sound.