I fall through pounding atmospheric depth
White and gray mobius strip
Like bright mouse on ever turning cold wheel
No end, no beginning
A plummet with no true merit
Except for the few times my body hits the ground
Rushing kettle whistle steam to jarring death thrumming heart
And the break of body inches deep in red clay earth
It’s not the fall that wakes me
It’s the sound of my body burying itself
That jolts me from sleep
Upright cold sweat
Gasping and clinging to a body that hadn’t been broken in porcelain doll fashion
I can’t get back to sleep
I just stare into the dark
Past cyclic ceiling fan spinning hypnotic breeze over my body
Thinking that I haven’t flown in my dreams in ages
And I haven’t let my life fall through the downward spiral in decades
The trade off makes me smile
And eases my sea sick stomach
No longer fearful of the edge of the bed
Better I bury myself in dreams than in life
E.A. O'Connell
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