Moment

You know what I absolutely, uninhibitedly adore, in my crazy songbird way?

That moment, maybe a few blurry seconds at most, of waking up, and perhaps not yet opening your eyes, but listening, new noises, noises you don't expect, and opening your eyes, not too wide yet, just glimpsing a sliver of your surroundings, and you don't recognize this wall, what is this wall doing here, in fact what am I doing by it, and space is merely a whirling whirlpool of preconceived (and this word is important, in terms of wordly conception, the pregnancy and birth of earthly environment) visual and audible and structural design, spinning in space and waiting for the sleeper to adjust to the conscious realm of the waking, so you can squint and feel the panic, the listless instability of not knowing where you are, just for a moment, or a few tantalizing seconds, because folded within the staticy panic is the self destructive desire to possess some sense of belonging, the internal fist left momentarily agape, and you are just a sleepy baby totally at the mercy of everything around you, the substances you fell asleep against, beside, sometimes in a drunken stupor and sometimes in a state of Angellic trust, because when else are we most vulernable but in sleep, and so the rooted build fortresses and stuff them with luxuries and that is where they permit themselves to rest their weary heads, but my current state of sleep is temporary, pretend homes constructed in hostels and couches and train floors, and when I am not sure where I am, just for a bit, I can ride the frantic frothing freedom anywhere, I could be anywhere, and so within my grip lies the waking and unwaking World, allowance for temporary consumption, and it's all up to little unfocused me, soaring high until my mattress catches me, whump.