EYEdle, July o8, 2o13

Monday,
   I popped this one off pretty fast today. I've decided to not call what I do poetry or poems. I think I'll just call them, writes. Or maybe just call them, words. I'm stuck on the color red for the pics. Need to change that, AND also need to use something other than MY picture in everything! Come on, I can be more creative than that!

EYEdle

 

I wake up. A desire not to do so.

My eyes, at least, refuse to open.
Hands, however, already busy scratching,
touching my body... I guess they want  
to figure out if I'm still here, physically.
Like some damn fairy burglar would sneak in,
steal a body part  while we slept. Arms,
legs, personal parts (always checked first),
hair— well, what hasn't already been stolen
by nature— nope all there.
It's then my eyes agree to look.
I'm supposing they want to make sure
that I exist before making any commitment
to getting up. Yes, these dear eyes of mine
are so insecure. They wouldn’t like to be
surprised or shocked by loss of limb… or life.
It’s sort of funny, they have no qualms about
rummaging through the unknown territories
of a random dream, but reality?
Scares the hell out of ‘em.
—rrw o7-o7-13