Transitioning

Rose up from cloud-base. Looked around the echoing cave of my skull. Saw yesterday dancing a gypsy dance with the night. Saw a little boy looking for his hands, hands that a mother rarely held. Sniffed up my nose, hold my breath until a head grows back again, at this moment of infinity it is a deep-thinking cabbage. Old man snoring even though his brain is awake and swimming up toward the light bones dressed in winter-greens. Is it time? No, not yet, it's sun-up it's once again bleeding another reason to write this semi-conscious poem, a work dedicated to a shadow pinned to a bare wall.