Ode to sleeping pills
and the disappearance of the ego
into the mouths of angels,
in gelatinous, glittering mouthfuls;
Each piece of light,
as elaborate as a dew-drop
the world trapped in it,
into the angels golden belly
with a happy hum.
to the sound,
bathes the darkness
in false light.
I usually just grab a broom, let them grab on and release them outside somewhere. Theyre pretty handy on a farm usually and id rather relocate them than kill them. That and the fact that I dont like mixing fur with squishing sounds (ever hear about somebody stepping on a mouse?). This was average big for a spider around here, just smaller than my hand. It was late, the broom was in the kitchen and it was close enough to bathe in the light from the computer. Kill zone.
This was less than 20 minutes after editing some pictures I had taken earlier in the evening. Only now do I realize the ( enter word here). Lifes funny like that. And just like that I am myself again. All it took was 10 episodes of Red-Dwarf some genius uploaded to YouTube, a pack of cigarettes and lots of coffee. My thanks are being thought out as I type by some other part of my brain. Thats all it took for me to get the storm inside under control.
Just a few nights earlier, as my mind was reborn, I was going to write a poem. The first line being ‘ode to sleeping pills..’ It seems funny now. I might still do it. It had its swing and the bruise/memory is still there. I want to take advantage before it disappears.