Morpheus Sleeping

I am a water baby
A fluid swimming 
Acolyte, maybe
Reborn every time
I duck under the
Shower head
Renewed like
Morpheus sleeping
An Orion armed
And primed heroine
Lining up with 
Heroes, and Kings
And things with wings
For my taste of the 
Coast of Perfection,
For that divine 
A dreaming hiker
Into those misty
Not wanting to 
But unable to 
Go on
And come back.
Even Morpheus
In his lullaby bed
Must partake of
His own stake 
In a future he
Tells to his 
Favorite sons
And daughters. 

Morpheus is sleeping
And he will not awake
His head is full
Of cotton wool
And his thirst cannot
Be slaked. 
He tosses and turns
Over rainbows
And mountain passes
Scattering poppy seeds
Smoke and 
Looking glasses.
Morpheus doesn't 
Much care for
The dirt that 
Cannot be 
Washed off 
In showers,
Or the brown paper
And sticky tape fixes
That hold together
My fractured 
And messy pieces.

Morpheus is dreaming
Of indian ponies
And citrus scented
Wind-up phonies
While the radio hisses
And only plays the hits
Not the misses:
The fists are all
And harmonicas wail
As I stand under the 
And chase my own

Twenty two years
Only raising my head
To wimper and complain.
Twenty two years 
Going through the motions
Pretending to like
The sun, and sweat
And salt on the skin
Scented with pine
And the stench of
The puzzling mystery
Of the desire of men
To possess a body
That exists in 
Negative space
And doesn't even
Belong truly to me

A nymph sat in 
The drain
Choking on suds
And the detritus
Of my pain
Blue skin shining
Eyelashes batting
Away the stinging 
Attacking the mess
With her bucket and 
Mop, and yet
Thinking she was unnoticed
Hitting my ankles
And shouting "Rouse yourself!
Morpheus was dreaming
Your downfall, but now he
Is on the move.
Get going!
You don't have 
Much left
To lose!"

I shivered on the 
Cold tiles
And looked behind
At the road
And all the miles
And miles laid out
Behind me
And thought that
I must just be tired
And should really
And then
Headed back off
Into the deep 

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