Since I got old,

It’s not easy to find


The rocky wastelands of my mind.


But as a child, I knew,

They’re right behind the sleep-locked door

To my mother’s laundry room, where

I just had to open

The right-most window with

The washed-out blinds,

Climb over filthy clothes and

Once-loved teddy bears,


Out of the frame and

Into the foggy day of


The wasted rocklands of my mind.


*inspired by my most vivid dream when I was a kid.


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