Rest Stop

It's a burp of a thought
coming straight from my body.
My mental muscles get so
slack I soon won't be able to hold my
head together.

I will have floated far away from my
man-in-the-moon,
the best friend of my start,
and arrived in this life
outside the tribe.

Here where she
always sleeps
on the south side of the bed
and I put her bread on the
southern side of the toaster,

here where I carry
old memoranda
like a blanket and
bear them
rattling around
when I move,

I have to wear a black shiny
time traveler's coat
that's always
wet from contact with
the Earth's warm air.