In the country of Bed,
I am unemployed,
a hobbyist. Mornings,
various alarms go off
that mean nothing to me.
There goes more time.
There goes another election
of who should get up.
Glad I lost again.
I wander from border
to border slowly,
a slow-motion octopus,
a getaway car out of gas.
Off to the south, somewhere,
there is water, and farther
away, I hear there are others
— right here, though,
an extraordinary number
of threads to count!
Not a bad idea to chronicle things
in this remarkable land
where the laws are simple
—go nowhere, hurt no one.
My neighbor from the other side
of the bed will be back soon.
He is friendly and kind.
