WRESTLING MATCH UNDER THE SHEETS

This is the bed of the coyote pup pillow.

The bed where neurons are sharpening their dendrites, where stains are blueprints and blueprints are the deep roots of thickspike wheatgrass.

Drought tolerant. The cool-season special.

This is the bed of the bison march dreams, the bed of connection feeding inspiration, inspiration feeding a beep six million light years away, as the alien wakes from his nap and his monitors and his search. 

This is the bed of the emancipated grace. The bed of the threesome, where Ego and Fear have been stealing the covers all night and Love has had enough.

This is the bed of the instinct colored hunt. The bed of the prairie comforter – rolling wide, vast, open – where Truth used to wrestle Language under the sheets. 

This is the bed upon which we have awoke and it’s time to get up.