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Sunday, February 17, 2008

Forty-winks



Wrinkled flannel under my chin and
My closing eyes a passport to familiar territory
Where skilled archivists have rearranged my life.
Using society rejects to play the parts
That change each night,
Dreaming becomes a mini-death and almost-resurrection.
Feet shuffle to the counterpoint and
The clatter behind my eyes,
Of vague remembrances and dried tears
Wind-up clock, baby cries, worry or pain.
No matter, I’ve come back
None the wiser.


My thoughts on Sleep for Sunday Scribblings. Nudge more sleepyheads here. Painting by Henri Rousseau, The Sleeping Gypsy.





12 comments:

Lucy said...

very lovely poem, I wish our dreams would fill us with newfound wisdom each morning! :)

bellamocha said...

I love the 'clutter behind the eyes'- beautifully put!! A lovely poem- you really have a way with words.

Thank you for sharing.

keith hillman said...

What a lovely piece. Really desciptive

myrtle beached whale said...

well written. we do come back none the wiser.

Inland Empire Girl said...

I understand the "clutter behind the eyes". After just taking a nap I should have been more inspired for this prompt. I love the picture at the top also.

tumblewords said...

This is lovely! Feet shuffle to the counterpoint - (that phrase alone takes me to a faraway place) - the clatter behind my eyes (another fine line)
Great work!

Beatriz's suitcase contents said...

Well done! crafted to a fine point. None the wiser?

gautami tripathy said...

"Where skilled archivists have rearranged my life.
Using society rejects to play the parts"

Great phrases.

snooze time, baby!

Marianne said...

LOVELY lovely :^)
I'm a big Rousseau fan.

Julie Schuler said...

I love anything with clocks and archivists.

lissa said...

you painted such a wonderful dreamscape

Kerri said...

Wow! This is lovely! Wow!