Dissociative state.

by Poet on the Piano   May 20, 2024


The hum of a tractor across the
ditch. I can't see it, only hear it,
the clank of metal, the clunk of wood.

Robins survey the ground and
swallow worms faster than I can even blink,
then fly away toward telecommunications.

Strands of hair dance around my face,
my legs hanging over the patio chair,
thighs pale and visible, reminding me I am
h u m a n.

The shadows of trees billowing...
I am swimming in a sea of green.
My feet are wrapped in ivy,
but it doesn't feel too tight.

I have little sense of time.
I ignore the ache of my back
as I try to lose myself in this dreamland.

But, it's not a dream...

you eventually have to move.

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