A golden whisper, 
in an eardrum,
a cocoon might have, 
this surreal creep,
in my subconscious,
as I arise from moonlit,
shadow bliss of, 
velvet crush doze,
or maybe even,
gleam pillow drowse,
which has countless,
bounty with wonderworld, 
image-laden bright future,
prospect laid out, 
on lush pile carpet,
of a scene-shifter,
vital urban surge.