i lay myself,
flat,
   onto my bed;
to then conjure up...
a vision of
a child...
  so? so?!
i might sleep....
dreamless.
i don't like
to entertain...
dreams...
counter-indicative
for the necessity
to, think!
    had i a moral ought,
worth a theta's
charm of phi!
            i'd die,
the already, happy....
man.

i simply want to cuddle
a gravestone,
and call it...
    a lost, engraved epitaph,
for a
besting heart of mine;

to mind the wind,
like an engraving
of a transitioning breath,
once a body,
twice the soul
and thought,
itchy in its existence....
  all in the current stress of words:
for the cuddling
of a waiting,
pillow.