into my processes;
thoughts find a tired
eye closing and opening;
the mind dances in
and out of reality like
a shot actor, finally
falling to the ground;
revolving around my head,
spinning inside a cocoon of dreams,
a who’s who of images floats past,
too quickly to
be caught and put into words;
the mental coordination slows,
my muscles relax like an unwinding spring;
limp and motionless,
my ideas freeze and disappear,
too heavy to carry,
out of reach . . .
out of focus . . .
in between sleep and consciousness,
not a part of either,
drifting aimlessly past all the
sights and sounds of the day,
of my life . . .
of previous lives . . . perhaps,
that I never knew.
March 1987
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