laying on the floor,
throwing a baseball
up into the air.
meditating on emergencies
in breakneck dreams,
where fine gone girls laugh at me.
trying to get as close
to the ceiling as possible
without hitting it.
thinking about the future
that will someday
be the past.
I wonder if I can get it
to go over the ceiling fan
without touching the blade or popcorn.
alone in the wild now,
somehow finding blindly my way,
each tossing and turning day.
trying not to miss it,
and knock my teeth out,
or lose it under the bed forever.