The Midnight Mind

The mind must fashion something in the dark.
Eyes are alive behind their lowered lids
Ever searching the retina's static spark
For something new within it's crackling ids.
It is the inner welkin of the night,
The superpower of the midnight mind
And is so unlike common daytime sight
As to make that vision seem almost blind!
It's the rough surf of Bacchanal potation
In constant screen saver demo mode
Of violently noctilucent nebular rotation
That connects the dots just to watch them explode!
It's the seething sea of hectic order;
A shimmering Selenotropic reflecting pond
Where introspection has no clear border
Between the here and now and the great beyond.
It's the broiler pan of feverish dreams
Where heaven and hell audition for parts
That test the limits of nightmare extremes
Hidden in the nooks of anxious hearts,
A vast proto stage of universal scene
That has infinite mixtures on display
Of strange monstrosities of cogent spleen
Imploring consciousness for yea or nay!
But do not fear this stage of umbral sphere
Where phantoms show, only to disappear,
Back into the scintillations near...
The Empire...of The Midnight Sonneteer!