Or is it?

05.25AM. Thursday Aug 13, 2009
(a memorandum from an early morning trance)
Prior to the break of dawn,
A cool breeze of numbness blew across,
in a vacuum conditioned room of filth and goo.
I'm pondering on the presence of nothing
Or is it?
Minutes til whatever might come across,
I'm stumbling mid-air, craving on a starving 'spooch',
Is that even a proper word, I don't quite know,
It's time when voices approach me,
To tell a fable of forbidden woes.
I'm a child, walking and waiting
Or is it?
When the beats of Bossa takes over,
My mindless fingers tingling,
to write on, write on, with out comprehension.
It's not me who is reporting, but a temptation
of graces shined upon,
or is it?
Raindrops start striking my face,
and I then realize.
I have not moved one bit.
The shivering breeze that warms me up.
The meaty vog of my bedroom clearing...

Snap!

And it all goes away.
With my morning alarm's obliterating psalms.
And it all goes away.

Now I'm back. With reasons and numbness
trying to decipher the untouched words,
from the incomprehensible voice,
Is it a message? a clue? an epiphany?
A moment of truth, not in actuality
but a redemption that I've always strived for
A moment away. A break. A bliss Abyss.

Or is it?