I don’t remember sleeping
The act of unconsciousness
An awakening of conscience
A letting-go of stress
Becoming something organic
Folded into dotted wood
And fabrics made of ghost
Torpid fibres snake my blood
The calendar flicked through days
The clock ticked through time
Smacked out my mind adventures
Back when I was in my prime
Thinking way outside the box
Deep slumberer in rictus tomb
At one with earth and universe
As safe as mother’s womb
Cruelly wrenched back to life
Birthed hard from safe oblivion
Dreams jet-washed like pebble-dash
Still waiting for event horizon
© pofacedpoetry – Billy Reynard-Bowness (2018) – All right’s reserved
Nov 21, 2018
Nov 21, 2018 at 9:00 AM UTC
I don’t remember sleeping
The act of unconsciousness
An awakening of conscience
A letting-go of stress
Becoming something organic
Folded into dotted wood
And fabrics made of ghost
Torpid fibres snake my blood
The calendar flicked through days
The clock ticked through time
Smacked out my mind adventures
Back when I was in my prime
Thinking way outside the box
Deep slumberer in rictus tomb
At one with earth and universe
As safe as mother’s womb
Cruelly wrenched back to life
Birthed hard from safe oblivion
Dreams jet-washed like pebble-dash
Still waiting for event horizon
© pofacedpoetry – Billy Reynard-Bowness (2018) – All right’s reserved
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