December 7, 2014 § Leave a comment


There’s something about

Being in


That is so


The familiar smells

And warmth:

Both coming from you

And giving back

To you,

As Other:

Which in turn is




It is though we have created,

Or rather, recreated

Something to be symbiotic with.


I’ve always been amused that word itself,


Looks like that which it is…


You only need to lie there,

Feeling the world around you,

To start becoming one with the bed


                                                                                                              And the sheets

And the doona

And the pillows


And the fabric

                                                                                                And the dust

And the hot air in-between

Sometimes I forget

Where me legs end

And where the bed begins


Or if they are crossed

Or splayed

Or cocked to one side


Or if I need to turn myself over

To get to the cool side

Or if that’s just for pillows


While the sheets across my chest

Rise and fall

In time with me;


Pulling up and down

Like an iron lung,

Not hindering but helping.


Noises outside seem distant

And other-worldly:

Echoes of beings I should remember,

Things I should care more about;

Or will care about later;

Or once cared about:

Apart from when a truck

Rattles past

So loudly the window shakes


So hard that the sound

Invades my room

In an unsettling clatter.


Noises pass

Feelings pass

Time passes


I am cosy and comfortable

At ease

In a state between sleep and wake


While the world rattles on

Along the road outside

I can lie

In my bed

In my mind

In my own time


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