odd I see
the pillow as a
white-capped wave
containing
one mermaid
singing a siren song
each morning
tempting me to stay in bed.
It's the
oddest sea
to be sailing on -
these nightly visions
with the only sail
my thin bedsheet,
catching all my drool
as I dumbly gaze out
at Circe's dreamlike world.
It's an
audit - see
how this daily test
investigates the solvency
of my will,
inspecting my obeisance
list of to-dos.
In this
ode I see us
as the crew,
hastily and vainly
stuffing feathers in our ears
as if to block the pillow's siren song,
only to find its sound
is coming from within.
