Sleep

This morning I woke up with a cut on my finger and thought How did I get this cut on my finger I thought I must have been on such an adventure last night tucked under six or seven comforters (because I get cold at night) and I thought where’d I been under those comforters to earn me such a mark I thought as a cut that now turned a hazy pink under healing flesh so it must have been a while ago I thought so I must have fallen into a nest of a vulture or tumbled aimlessly into a serpent’s lair or awoken a dragon and fought it till it has my sword shimmering between rows of iridescent teeth and ran away back to my six or seven comforters I thought and now looking at this little cut on my finger I’m desperately wishing that I was more interesting.