meandering lost
tossed from river to
raft
daft, insensible in
my bed, staring, waiting
thinking
too much of
nothing
dreams in the shapes
of bowls bought in
Mexico or feathers
picked from fallen
birds. my boat
rocks again, like a
cradle, this bed my
child-mind cries out. oh
for a little tenderness, a little
love." but the river doesn't
answer, my bed-boat is still
comfortable and I pull the
covers up and over my head
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