Reaching deeper into the mind
to disregard the frivolous poetic
dribble of infantile days, with intent
to extract hidden meanings behind
the restlessness recently found
in the momentary sway from elated
joy of comforting freedom
to the languorously sleepy
life passing-by complacency
that occasionally drifts in as life
drifts by while I slumber. Is it enough
to be alone again; to comfort myself,
to pleasure myself, please myself?
What is this numbness newly found
within while without I fuss, fidget
and fumble, decorate, dawdle
and doodle, bake, bath and binge.