Self conscious bias

I am -- lost for words
I can -- only give
Worlds, images old

My eyes, they are closed
A game, as it flows
Across my mind's reel

The spine of a hill;
A start -- now it snows,
Covering the trail;

Fresh footsteps they bear
The way before fog:
Follow, round the bend.

Step, step, and descend;
Snow turns more mushy:
Slush, slush, it's a dream

I step into stream
Of subconsciousness;
I unravel.

In

Travels
Through my mind
I can but find

The search and research
Of that which can't be
Like a proof, deduced

Or even reduced.
Ink on my forehead
Unwitting witness

If all is witless
How fine and reckless
This series of dreams.