Like

the drowsy,

still-almost-asleep man

who rouses himself

from his bed,

stumbles into his bathroom,

pisses,

flushes,

splashes

water from the tap

onto his face

to clear his head of cobwebs,

to awaken himself,

to spur himself into the day,

but!

forgets to remove his glasses

which he groggily

fixed to his nose

when he rose

from his deep sleep,

the splashings

now

dripping,

sliding

down

his lenses,

blurring his vision.

His purpose for the day

obscured by the curtain of water

he created by his own actions

which were

intended to,

but failed to

achieve the success he desires,

the fulfillment of his nights dreams.

That’s me!

Trying,

vainly,

to recall the now vague

opening line of a

dimly

remembered poem

from the middle of last nights sleep

I didn’t get up

to jot down,

now fading,

crowded out,

too obscure to remember

through the superfluous livings of

life.