I wanted to stay in the dream.
I don't know the dream, only how it felt:
silently noisy, softly pixelated, muted and colorful,
an underwater disco.
Usually I welcome the brassy glare and sharpness
of waking reality. For decades I've leapt from sleep, charging
into consciousness like a rebel soldier. The alarm trumpeting
my assault on the day.
But on this morning waking trickled
into me slowly. I went to relieve myself
leaving my glasses behind. So strange it is
for me to be glassless
I imagine someone asking me
"Where are your glasses?"
I imagine my answer, so real it startles me:
sometimes I tire of the clarity of the world.
Sometimes I crave the fuzz and the blur of the undefined.
Like a red wine stain
on a ball gown
Like a cup of rainbow sherbet
dropped on hot asphalt
Like Christmas decoration spilled
from a toppled trash can
strewn in the dirty alley snow
Like your shimmery, polished toes in the front yard grass
surrounded by tactical boots
because of me.
Write something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview.