Lying down atop downy fluff
Put there for my peace;
How odd it is that it feels so rough;
I wonder that it's not concrete at least-
Peace is too heavy for flighty feathers.
My staring contests with the blank ceiling
Just keep flopping and failing.
Fun house reflections give me a strange feeling;
Make me think of Lucky Lindies and Caesar-hailing;
I move, and every feature stretches.
Those photographs stare me down
From their lofty perches way up there,
Glowering on me with nary a frown;
You'd think pictures of places would not care;
It seems memories are my toughest critics.
The window takes it upon itself
To let some light on my reverie;
I ponder the East, then West, then books on my shelf.
Ask "What day is this," then answer "every".
Is it moon or sun that upsets me such?
They say this place is for sleep,
And I should pray to God my soul to keep;
But I don't think that I would get to reap
The benefits of such faithful leap;
Maybe I'll just lie here instead.
