I rise from the bed, words rambling madly,
not quite making sense, but my god
if I don’t make it sound like the best idea.
Why not have a side of bacon and peas?!
That is like a salad you put into mac and cheese.
Is that a sleepwalker’s version of an elevator speech?
Perfect, I could use one on hand!
The confidence is contagious, the gall audacious
as words of unrealized wisdom fall languorous
from my numb lips.
This waking woman is smarter than I,
charting course for European trains
and long, windy roads coiling and twisting down mountains into ravines
in a confusing haze of a constant afternoon.
She speaks with barbed words, eager to find foot
in the proverbial doorway with a damn shout.
Which is rather jarring first thing in the morning
when I’d prefer to wake up lazily and slowly plot
a day over a couple jotted down notes.
Instead, the sleep-talking is an instrument of inner passion,
burning the double lit candle into another realm
only to herald into the morning with a war cry
that this soul will not fade into the night.
So no, I shall not have a good morning for a while yet.
Not while I’m burning and sleep-talking myself
into a frenzy that I’ve learned to better maintain.
Soon enough the words will burn their way through
and that way will be to the path of passion.
Or at least learn my recipe for the best mac and cheese
and a direction for personal success.