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.