Fickle Presence

 She lays mostly asleep in an early morning slumber, the heat pushing against the dew on the windows opposite of the cold London November air. Is she dreaming? I wonder, are those dreams like mine - the ones that stirred my brain and pulled me out of bed like a fact defying inertia. Or does she sleep soundly as I hoped to; caressed and cared for by the beautiful subconscious, euphoric restful bliss. Is it the calm before the storm, before the maladies of life evoke their innate purpose and stir the momentary dead? I pray for her while sipping lemon ginger tea from a Zara home cup, profoundly unoriginal and serving its purpose. 

Sleep deprived but still I wake, with pupils dilated and bags like elephants hanging from sky she parachutes - I wonder...What does it feel like to be present in sleep? Is it a state of nothingness; unscathed by the wrath of virtuous thought and incessant desires? Is it dreamlike, or Dantes Inferno, is the fire blue or orange, or envy green? Is it speckled light and paisley dripped kaleidoscope art, illuminating the back of eyelids shut firmly but ever capable of lifting? Oh, I wonder. Is it a painting canvas asking for a beating, to be drenched like an orgasm? Is it that ecliptic moment right before release where all you want is to achieve nirvana knowing it's gone quicker than it came?

Sunrise, east side, come again today - be my unnecessary alarm, guarded soldier without a war. Rise from the same side of the bed and feel the wooden path to morning glory. Shit, shower, shave, take meds, breath, eat, pray, plan, act...be. But can we be? Why does the present feel so different from our distant dreams where one part is vivid and the other is a blur in a windstorm, suffocated memory glands of dust from the dessert. Attempt to live the dream from notes which look only like ripped projector screen images, but try nonetheless. Since if we cannot choose our sleep, nor our dreams, nor our lives - all we have control over is this moment which passed by before we ever saw it coming.