I was on the verge of a nap
(Can one be next to a verge, behind one, or under it?)
Drifting in thought, eyes closed,
Caught somewhere between a semblance of conscious-control
And the more gentle autocracy of the mind,
Where tales are loosely spun and
Things whimsically come undone
As reality slips through the fingers,
Such safe keeping.
It’s not so bad,
A refuge from the harsh tyranny of reality,
Which flaunts with its beauty
And taunts with its pains.
Why then is it so hard to do, give it up these realities
And retreat into the convoluted creases of my mind bearing brain?
Is there some agenda that needs attention
Some soup to stir
Some consequential conquest?
I think I need to inquire of a child:
What is the real difference between math class
(Do the even questions on page 189)
Perhaps I am on the verge of a discovery?
Or at least the first step to recovery?