wake up

There are too many predominant memories from bed. Mom brought me Blueberries for Sal and she sang Pippen. Dad taught me my name and sang about Carolina. I never left my sheets due to the labor associated with exiting the top bunk. My eyes sag and bend towards psychotic activity. 

Last night I couldn’t talk and only cried. It was quick. I checked the clock before and after. I’m a sweet, unruly disciple of the clock. Clocks were enough. Enough was enough. Enough gave me space from my little sister who on this day is six years old where I am twenty. Twenty times I’ll visit her in her sleep tonight. Tonight I'll have three pounds of weed, honeybush, wild angry mustard, and carrots but you can eat queen anne’s lace which is a symbol for sanctuary. Sanctuary is a time when it’s okay to be alone. Alone which is factory settings, the time when I notice trees are people and there’s a big blue whale on top of us, and later maybe I’ll talk about that and people won’t get it unless I put it in a poem. 

Remembering is a far more psychotic act than forgetting. I’ll go dancing tomorrow and while I kick out loud I’ll waltz in my head. I’m so tired but luckily I know a good remedy for that.