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