In the partly human, partly fungal state
\nbetween sleeping and waking
\nhe abandons the tangled sheets,
\ndismisses the drama that knotted them,
\npivots to a shadowy perch at the edge
\nof the bed. He wants to flex his limbs,
\nperhaps fly, perhaps astonish.
\nHis feet numb, stumps: they could not
\nrun, can hardly walk; the carpeted planks
\nare too cold and mindful:<\/p>\n
elbows on knees,
\nhands cup forehead like golf ball on tee.
\nIf he were sitting barefoot at the summit
\nof a mountain or on a beach at water’s edge,
\nhe could have no less intent than at this
\nmuddled instant in which the universe presents
\nno answer nor any question.<\/p>\n
Step aside: light a cigarette, figure it out.<\/em><\/p>\n He does not light a cigarette; perhaps that For some people, and I am one of them, sleep is an elusive and frustrating necessity. (#996) Continue reading
\nis the problem: he has no partly human, partly
\nfungal ritual to fall back on, no template for
\naction; perhaps if he nibbles
\nhis fingernails (or a little fungus ) he will find
\nthe path on which to stumble for the rest
\nof the night. Uncompromising horizontal
\ndaylight brings clarity
\nsometimes.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"