I may have to explain. This poem is about how you wake up, but still live unconscious sometimes. I hope I'm not the only one that feels this way. Enjoy.

The unruly body, emancipates itself
From these, my sleeping spirits,
However, I'm not apprehensive
Of the things that are in tiny bits,

Not sure what time, I can’t tell when
I actually rouse, it isn’t foretold,
Could be noon, or maybe at two?
After four, or when sun’s turned cold,

If I knew, arrival of presence, maybe
I’d be good for you, or too good,
My mind is somewhere else, is it
In a town of should, would or could?

Substances birthed, I don’t take ‘cause
They stir queasiness, of prominent disgust,
Addiction’s wrath, storms in like winds of
A gusty bay, dissolving my strong thrusts,

As you await belated words, you may
Strike my face, with sinful fists,
No good will it do, but leave marks of
Blacks ‘n blues, in a world that does persist,

So as I establish, dreams of what I may
Accomplish tomorrow, I’ll lay down tonight,
Until my eyes remove closure, and unravel
In this light, relaxation may cure my sight,

Jeremy D. Raulinaitis 10/26/00 2am