Stormed Out, by Anton Nemeth

Stormed Out


Turbulent sleep hocked me up

On this beach, my usual

Bed, amidst the dry tangled

Waves of dream tossed percale sheets

And that lying comforter

That failed its one yclept job.


The islands of my pillows,
That might have been lamely grasped

In unconscious dreamy frays
With squiddy nightmares chasing,

Unlike the ones in salty

Seas, had migrated, drowned

In the off-bed depths of the

Carpeted floor, that fabric

Plane beyond the tangled surf

Of my moving sleep churned


That abrashed twilly

Softness forms the abyssal

Plane I am now by virtue

Of my drowsy wakefulness

Doomed to erratically walk

Negotiating my slow

Way to the feeding grounds of

The kitchen with its promise

Of coffee and scrambled eggs

That will fuel my way into

The incomprehensible

Tides of yet a greater sea.


by Anton Nemeth