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.
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