Slipshod Sonnet #2

my dreams wait there
like a plaster Hamlet skull
an expired signature
subject to hasty recognition
you can help yourself
if you care to learn
so many ceilings have watched this
unfold like routine voodoo
and with curari aftershave
the world is keen
for the garden to be
overrun undernourished
bleating out hunger tantrums
fixated on historic diction