I can’t seem to stop falling asleep on a raft of

pure emotion and pulling myself out by the hairs

of my unconscious, just before my conscious mind,

a quarter mile off shore, loses grip of me completely.

If you happen to see me, you can find me

in my favorite chair calling forth the creatures

of my forest-covered brain to serve the mundane,

squirrels of reactivity hold off on your acorn gathering,

chickadees of hypervigilance the holly can wait,

earthworms of disassociation the dirt isn’t going anywhere

so, if you’d be so kind as to put eating it on hold

for a little bit I promise I’ll make it up to you,

we all will. In fact, it takes me a good trip around a nap

to realize that a worry has attached itself to me

like a memory of once cutting my foot open on a limpet,

which in my case is about how long it takes

for me to feel humiliated for imagining

I’ve been up there in my tree of non-conformity

for god knows how long chainsaw chirping

and throwing down nuts of impulsivity each time

I think things are looking up but sure as a shingle

still need to be reminded that even optimism can sting.

With a leviathan of uncertainty barking

and pooping on my clean spot beneath me,

it’s times like these, which is pretty much all the time,

that I try to remember a pine tree has held me

until I started to cry, and that these little, orange, mite-like

thoughts moving around on and eating this

leaf of feeling I’m holding tight to are yes, overworked,

but also know how take a break and totally live it up

with something as bland as a peanut butter sandwich.