after a nap, somewhere else, yet familiar


a dream
of this
one,
as used to be
that, one-

a dream,
nocturnal psychosis
it be like
regarding ambitions,
instincts
and how to fight them
as in an afternoon,
inviting slumber
alone
and away,
a hoped to stay
sort of feeling
peeled away
from the front
but,
still fastened
in background
as
mind, and eyes
go closed to waking

so, he sips
liquid stimulants
hoping,
he don’t write epitaphs
yet,
fears he do

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