i resist stirring, opening my eyes, or thinking

as the dog wakes, and waits

i am in the center of another dawn-dream,
on the precipice of
experiencing some thing, of understanding some thing

but it cannot hold,

evaporating
with every
slouch toward consciousness

i open my eyes to
the grey of the room, to the dark white gyre of the sky through these generous windows
i open my ears
to the beat
of crystals pummeling these generous windows,
once and again, realizing
i possess slow thighs,
heavy lungs, a heavier heart,
an entire weighted mass,
and a mind — less than half-known / half-known

i want to re-bury myself in the warm sands of sleep, the enveloping weightless numb
and drift back to
the liminal/

this must be the
feeling
of the fully-gestated
unborn fetus, warm,
quiet, still
waiting to be born
yet resisting being known, moving on

this must be the
feeling
of the pain-free
dying one, warm,
quiet, still
waiting for death,
yet resisting being unknown, moving on

but i am here,
not in the warm comfort of an enveloping
womb
not in the enveloping quiet of an increasingly inert body,

i am waking from shallow sleep, feeding the dog, eating and eaten by the world, shitting out life

here, and now, in this
time, in this realm, with them

in this, their ever absurd, violent

slouches toward Bethlehem.