I was drifting somewhere
between awake and a dream state
I figured I was made of stone
to heavy to turn in my covers
And while trying to move my feet
my mother the dying but lovely
whispered in my ear like if I was a child again
words I once knew but forgot
About stories I barely can gather
even from the clearest of fragments of memories
like laying a million-piece puzzle or building a brick house
which I never did and never really I wanted to
I never knew what the thenar space was
until I cut it and saw as the blood trickle like tar if tar could trickle
much thicker than I ever thought it would be
from such a small wound in such a trivial place
They always get longer and wider
my thoughts about this life and it's meanings
and it all loops back to this one inescapable thing
maybe one day I'll gather love and rain and road dust in glass jars like souvenirs