Eyes hang low
Retreating from the light,
Seeking shelter ‘neath heavy lids.
Machines whir in the back of my mind,
As their users push themselves
Thoughtlessly through their tired routines
Like hamsters on a wheel.
I hear the water dripping,
Almost as slowly as my thoughts,
Into the endless myriad
Of blue and red buckets.
My consciousness drifts away,
And suddenly it is my vehicle,
As I awake walking aimlessly
Through the crowded streets
Of some hot Arab marketplace.
Bearded men in headdresses
Bicker in strange languages
Over bizarre fruit, almost as vibrant
As the decorated sword hilts
Gently resting at their hips.
Past me walk crowds of lavishly clothed,
Brightly jeweled women,
Dressed more strangely and exotically
Then any person I’ve yet to see,
And I avert my own attention
So as not to draw that of others.
A co-worker walks past me,
Looking at me strangely,
And I emerge from the lake of my mind,
Flopping about as if I were a fish out of water.