When's the last time...
my night didn’t end
with my bed?
I’m a creature of comfort a slave to threads my waking hours are a tapestry of boredom predictable patterns knitted into marrow tomorrow tires this wheeling about used to be amusing a muse - the clock sings I listen for inspiration spindly hands let me down rusted faces raise my hopes maybe it's time I crack disappoint the world before they leverage F.O.G.* this is a ghastly business living and what not involuntary breathing has reduced me to a wisp whispering potential but tonight tonight I won’t land tonight I’ll suspend disbelief beyond midnight tonight I’ll sleep in a field or maybe I won’t sleep at all
*fear. obligation. guilt.
This was written while reflecting on routine and predictability, the initial question being one I circle back to often. As a free spirit, the yearning for adventure always creeps in. As of right now, I don’t know when my next adventure will be, but I feel the itch. When’s the last time your night didn’t end with your bed?
Little Synchronicity: A friend shared this video with me last week on quilting and its role in the underground railroad. It's both interesting and informative. Learning about abolitionist symbology gave this poem a whole new meaning for me… an ancestral reinterpretation.