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



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

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