Awake, adrift, asleep

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Where is it? The beginning. 


It's here somewhere,


I just have to find it.


Find it.


 


Find it.


 


Where is it? I know it is here.


Where?


Find it.


Close. Closer.


There!


 


*Pop*


 


Eyes open to a darkened room.


John shifts awake, asks if I'm alright.


Yes, just frustrated.


 


I was nearly there- maybe too close.


Alive and dying was how it felt.


There, but not within reach.


A light pouring around the corner


where I knew what I would find,


but I lost it.


 


The shock was internal.


What was the pop?


Like static in my brain-


Two nerves misfiring.


Too much static lately


everything I touch;


couch - pop


remote - pop


cat - pop


 


The only things that didn't pop? I don't know.


Trees? Plants? Green?


A lot of things alive but dying.


I don't know. Sleep.


Sleep.


Sleep.


 


Drifting and floating with the writer who started


this freight train down a hill


braking with broken brakes.


 


I think I said his name in my sleep.


I don't know.


 


Alarm sounds, John's up. Eyes open, I crawl


across pillows, blankets, bed.


Reach up, get my morning kiss,


and he's gone.


Back to sleep.


 


Its my alarm this time.


I know I said something,


but couldn't hear it.


Choppy wakening.


Trying to recall the moment before the pop:


 


Hand over hand


over arm over head


over hand over hand


over arm over head,


up around down


back around


twisting and down,


pulling climbing


holding writhing


and holding on


and on


and on


to the point


where it left me


only an image-


hand over hand


over arm over head


on its strands


where I sought


a beginning


that shocked


me from sleep


before I could


 


grasp it.


 


Damn- Not there.


 


It's Friday and I am late


like every other day


except when I wake up with John.


I didn't want to wake up with him today.


Last night was late at the coffee shop


with the realtor friend


and the writer friend


and the other friends who have less definition


because I don't know what they do.


I think I said the writer's name in my sleep.


I don't know.


Probably,


but whatever.


Couch – pop


remote - pop


cat - pop


TV on news, coffee on brew.


I walk out and light my smoke


and I am late.


I am awake,


I think.


It's Friday at least.


Good morning, Friday.


 


And that is how I start.


 


(Stream-of-consciousness that wound up having a unique rhythm, so I thought I'd share. Icon: Door by Daut Logua)


 

Created: Jul 08, 2012

Tags: dreafm, doze, sleep, wake, drift

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