ZYX poem

Zebras are
yellow, living on a
xeric plain. No
water is found as the sun
vexes their dry bodies.
Understanding my mind,
trying to interpret the
sounds
running through my
queer dream.
Possible
omens that I will
never understand.
Mere sleep
lasts,
knowing how
jilting
imagination is to my
head.
Go from me, this
fantastic illusion.
Eliminate this
drone of
consciousness
before I
awake.