Sometimes when I first wake up, even before my eyes open, my mind goes to poetry where only fragmented cognitive processes live. This is the anaesthesia of my REM sleep wearing off. This is my morning's smatterings of thought.
Cut here, along this fine line
Cut there, with complete precision
Remove this, it’s only grey matter
Remove that, it won’t matter
Flatlining.
Intubate.
Shallow breath.
Treble line pulsing.
Move in again
Move out, leaving no trace
Fuse this experience, together
Fuse what’s tethered
Scar tissue embellished, raised
Where nothing grows
Well…nothing of substance.
~Jennifer Ward
RantingnRaven on twitter