on the edge of theta
Sleep weights my eyelids
Theta weights my brain
Thoughts slide like snails
Leaving rainbow stain
Future looms ahead
Past is pressing in
Here and now besieged
Time to start again
Find a perfect moment
Never ever leave
Root like General Sherman
Grandmother of trees
‘If only’ is a phrase
To purge from my vocab
And ‘what if’, and ‘what next’
Watch me start to blab
In words without a precedent
As vagrant as a breeze
Awakening the flowers’
Fragrance for the bees
And in this perfect moment
This perfect alpha state
I float, and slide, and flow
Free to find my fate