grasping at words

lines form and reform as i fall asleep
i see all poems having perfect shape
but when i wake up i have to scrape
my vapid mind for words that keep
their meaning and that in the long deep
moments of thought do not attempt escape
but come together as if from a tape
put together by some beings that creep
out of the dark and steal all inspiration
returning nothing but the dark again
and filling all my head with empty clouds
yet in those hours of deepest respiration
they indicate their presence without pain
but when i wake they all turn into shrouds