I feel I am

returning to the days of my nursing infancy,

prisoner of a green couch cloud,

angry for energy in these betweens.

I have

No stance I could take

No art I could make

No claim I could claim.

It’s true,

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

remember this.

I can

only listen, and go

sloth-like in my minutes,

my every second

Shouldn’t I be…?s

hushed by a gentle, funny snore.