I feel I am
returning to the days of my nursing infancy,
prisoner of a green couch cloud,
angry for energy in these betweens.
No stance I could take
No art I could make
No claim I could claim.
I forced this break, it’s
static on an old TV turned low,
it’s value deep within its nothing lull, it’s
healing to come, I
only listen, and go
sloth-like in my minutes,
my every second
Shouldn’t I be…?s
hushed by a gentle, funny snore.