The Sleep of Reason is a phrase made flesh
when shutters open and the flash-bulbs bloom.
Our Leading Man grins like a nervous groom.
His entourage’s hacks and snappers teem
like edgy minders at a threatened crèche.
A stream of snow-blind static fills the room,
and voices rising from a broken tomb
unite to whisper fretfully, then scream.
This monstrous demonstration flourishes
and spreads its shadowings from right to left,
a creeping stretch of night that banishes
Perspective and leaves Certainty bereft.
Seek out the dusk. Hang doubt in high esteem.
Grant those who lie to sleep an honest dream.