in the Before Choice Disturbs
"In the beginning is deam, and falls of disorder,"
Where I sweep
aside all of it with a drag
and a sip
As the flashes appear-- the bright spots flood the senses
and the night is lost beyond the eyes
I can feel it in my step, and the windbrush on my cheek.
The evening will be a physical blur, a mental blur when returned home.
Lean into the coma; draw tight a clean top sheet.
Leaning into the coma is like leaning into the wind
The rush of well-being, a gentle float,
a gradual tilt of all limbs-- the subtle swaning into sleep.