i wash my eyelids in Morning’s
first delicate wisps of gray.
night has gone, the black is over.
dreams are drowned in day.
i am lost in a trance behind myself
with foggy glass between here and there
and i am slipping into the other present.
every thing is heavy here
in the other other world.
the earth is pressing down against
pillows in my mind. they compress and
spread over and
over the last hill, hollow, stump.
when every word forms a tunnel and
all creation, spirals, kaleidoscopes and
melts into squishy blobs on the
from beyond misty woods i just decide to
stop it all for a moment, if i may. rest my
hand on the railing and wait, to catch my breath.
to see if perhaps, these cycles of the mind would not
stop this nonsense. would not mind their P’s and Q’s
and be thorough in their misery. and then i have been
roped in again, you see? there is no respite
when the clouds roll in.