Waking Up is Hard to Do

You must admit you wake up into
colorful conundrums. You creep
out of penumbral sleep through
such diversely permutating folds
of nakedness, you never don’t feel

clothed. Every morning you come to –
still wrapped in vestiges of yet
another thick and unpredictable
excursion to and through that strange
centrality in you wherein infinity

meets mind – you’re tempted
to suppose you may well just have
had a taste – at least a little lick – of it:
the thing that matters. Then, in
the clattering vicinity of waking day,

you sense you hear a pair of clocks
tick-tock away, one stuck to time,
one not. An only seeming paradox?
Or are you merely navigating self-
invented traps? Yes or no, perhaps.

.