The other night, right before I drifted off to sleep, I had an idea for a poem. I really, really liked it. I tried my best to remember it, but when I woke up later, in the middle of the night, I found that it had escaped me. I simply could not remember it. So the question became, What do I do about it? Every fiber of my being wanted to drift back off to sleep. But I also felt the idea was still there, somewhere inside of me.
First, a quick note about that part of me that pops out just before I lose consciousness. It’s kind of like a malcontent that spends most of the day behind a convenience store, smoking cigarettes. It has things to say, but it doesn’t necessarily feel like saying them. Still, every now and again, after lights out and before the lights go out completely, it wanders out to have a look. Maybe to stretch its legs a bit – clear its/his throat. It’s a small, but interesting piece of me.
Anyway, back to my story. Instead of going back to sleep, I decided to stay up for a bit and allow myself to drift back into that tranced-out state. And you know what? This time, it worked (it doesn’t always). Here’s that poem that I was chasing.
Pistachio – Time buries us in sand/We’re all just future clams/Death is a pearl collector.
Was any of it worth it? I don’t know. You tell me.