The Exhausts of Exhaustion

When I was very, very little,

I did not dream of the Good Ship Lollipop,

though I wanted to very badly,

and I did not have reveries of childlike wonder,

like they'd hoped I would,

and very, very late at night,

I went to war with the Moon,

and lost,

we had very different ideas of bedside humor,

me and the Moon,

of what pre slumbering pursuits should and should not be

My dreams were pitch black,

threaded with premonitions I would have otherwise evaded,

drowning,

separation from all of this,

whatever it was,

and I could no longer wake myself up with pain,

it was somewhat pastiche up here,

a patchwork quilt work of a madwoman trying to convince them of normalcy,

synapses that were starting to see green over there,

and all of this would have worried me,

of course,

if not for the fatigue and its companion in confinement,

fog----