I see my bed as a landscape;
There are dips like valleys and
Hopeful mountains just begging for
The bird's eye view.
But I get to see it properly,
Burrowing under and waving at giants,
They live there under the natural formations
Of empty gaps, the hollows under hills,
bigger than those spaces
Between stars and time and
Smaller than those between a child's teeth.
They pinch and bite.
If I wait long enough
The open maw of the open world
swallows down my closing thoughts,
My head thumps pillowed lips
And sleep chews me up and spits
Into the morning, so I groan and clutch
At hidden things in dotted gaps, holding on.
I have ran out of toothpaste.