Falling Asleep to Puppet Theatre

I wrote a poem about 5 years ago when I was staying at a guesthouse in Taidong in Taiwan - it was about falling asleep in front of the telly, on which there was a programme of Taiwanese puppet theatre playing. I've just been reading about, and watching videos of, the brilliant Murray Lachlan Young. The following poem is my 5-minute attempt to rewrite that old poem, while emulating Young's rhymes:

and when you slump down in your chair

vision starts to go: eyes dropping, drooping

whether it's bedtime or not, you do not care

your thoughts wander to ancient gods swooping

as your dreams gather your mind's eye sets

to lightning scooping

and though really it's just the telly noise

from where you're sat it's become really real

so that on-screen battles of toys fighting toys

become burning exchanges: every blast you feel

as one mystic being kills another again you think 

you yourself have been run through with steel

then you wake up and realise where you are

it's just a front room with a fan going and a TV on 

someone outside's just pulled up in a car

all that fear and apprehension might well be gone

but still on the goggle box

a wild witch floats past, graceful as a swan

what's puppet theatre anyway, when storms gather outside

watching children's programmes in a foreign land

I really do need a guide