POEM: Hypnagogia

I lie falling asleep —
purple Rorschach blobs
& unforming
on the black field of my inner eyelids.

The veneer of reality felt thinner,
but my efforts to poke a finger through
shoved me back into the warm, soft reality of my bed.

[I’d so wanted to “Here’s Johnny!” my way into
an alternate dimension.]

And, once more, I’m a prisoner to reflexes
that snatch away subtle worlds.

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