“Oh, that magic feeling, nowhere to go.”
Observe a nursing home bed at night.
A desert of wandering deconstruction.
Fragments of a life all out of order.
A husk sleeps, wakes, dreams, unsure
of any pattern that ever was.
The room swims with phantoms.
The husk travels in timeless time,
randomly remembering the forgotten.
Nouns morph into desperate phrases.
Verbs lead to chaotic destinations.
No visitors disturb the magic show.
Here is where everything ends.
A bed of nothing and nowhere to go.