And Where Bedtime Stories Are Born

River flow.

Sprung from the bottom of memory.

An implicit promise secretly coming from behind.

A world without senses,   so long it has been.

I might have forgotten the birth of the world.

The world was born.

Follow this trap while you are here.

Into an emotional whirlpool,  a place where people interface.

It is also vague,  the overlapping layers are coming and going.

You face each other face to face but slightly off.

The water.

Is continuously circulated,  different densities.

With a dramatic top layer and a supportive bottom layer.

Weaving in the old village with no sense of time.

A bred-in-the-bone gambler  how far do you take us.

Whose turn is it.

What type of foundation is best for memory foam.

What did you have for breakfast and what’s the word now.

Which universe are you wandering around.

And what a complicated answer.

Frozen shadows.

Melted by the reflected light and sound.

The moon sat down next to me and sighed.

Then threw the key of a locked storybook.

Now I have bedtime stories to tell.