Fading Thwack of Consciousness

He rose up on his elbows but could not
retrieve the fragments of a dream that sliced,
with odd tomography, his sleeping thought.

His whining CAT scan was much overpriced.
It offered no computer aid to him.
He could not read the mystery that it diced.

His high-tech dream of tunneling grew more dim,
and grim with disappointment, he slid back
into his blankets, shivering limb to limb.

If only he might slide back there and track
each step of tantalizing insight which
the dream laid bare with its expansive thwack

of consciousness, he maybe could enrich
his waking life — become much more at home
in it — if he could find that master-switch.

Now warm, his breathing like a metronome,
his eyes turned in and down upon his nose —
alas! — he could not find sleep’s pleasure dome.

Leland Jamieson

If you have any comments on this poem, Leland Jamieson would be pleased to hear from you.