Radio Flyer Ascent

Covered in boils infected, convalescing in amidst new accomodations, I sleep irregularly, and with dreams disturbing.
With an obligation less real than sentiment, as an exam unschooled for, I escaped-- riding away.
The mind swims in sleep, swept along in a current of oneiroflux; faces and personas change. The fluidity of dream's evolution swept beneath me, leaving me not on the vehicle of swift propulsion that I embarked with, but instead on a child's red wagon.
At the top of a spur, the empty terrain swept out by league after jagged league, as if reaching from the horizontal to the vertical and achieving a culmination of precipices impenetrable.
The road threatened to squeeze into a precarious capillaries' breadth.
I felt as if I had reached my minds ability to sustain even the most granted physical laws. The earth snarled, unraveling from stolid rock to unpredictable fluid. I slipped and grasped something which was nothing. I hung for a moment and knew that if I stepped further into these lost hills, that gravity itself would rebel against me.
I awoke wondering where I was.
This dream trek was reassuring however, as I was granted a brief look at the vastness of the shifting desert that I would have to cross, in pious pilgrimage, the horizons of mental destitution that would have to be bridged, before I would arrive in the Nation of Madness. And so I can sigh in relief, knowing the great buffer that protects me from that spiral of delusion where the compass of the mind's orientability flips and spins.