I sprained myself in my sleep so bad
my shoulder hurts. Various armors fighting
it out in my bod, the waking
is four layers deep, one armor
after the other unfurling and
whipping away into the air.
It's so draatic, the clinking
and crashing, that I forgot
the dream I had before
writing it down. The one
that would have told me what
to do, in reality. I stretch
against a tension and then
isometric and roll over searching
for rest in this hot-not bed.
Maybe I just probably need a
good shag but I can't seem
to work through the right layers
of blessedness to find the right
person. "Will you just hold me
today?" I say to my Goddess,
my daily angel, the one who
KNOWS me, in her mind and
would say the words, sphinx-like,
if I could ask the right question.
And so everyday I'm a soul
detective who loses sooner or later
the trail, and falls back into a stupor.
Somedays 10 am is too late and
the couch sucks me back down,
but I'm not even me by then, its
a ghost. "This town ain't nothin
but a ghost town..." I put on
the record by the ska band
The Specials and go to make some eggs
and stupid turkey sausage.
No comments:
Post a Comment