Cliff Poems
The Things Underneath
The space just before the waking world is filled
with matter that looks familiar but follows
laws of its own control.
In there, it is all made of water,
breathing is difficult,
and time moves fast while muscles are stuck slow.
Emerging from the sweaty darkness
I grab for a pillow, my glasses, oxygen
and lift it, as I am supposed to in a stable environment,
and move it to my own understanding.
Last night I dreamed of violence.
It happened, graphic, to a friend then to my mother.
I was helpless so I opened my eyes.
This afternoon,
a beggar humbly kneeled on the Nathan Road sidewalk,
bowing for charity.
A piece of his head and his right arm were missing.
I put a dollar in his cup and, helpless, turned away,
questioning reality with eyes looking far up
at walking skyscrapers and head held together like a perfect circle.
Now I close my notebook on a shaking boat,
wondering when an asteroid will strike.
with matter that looks familiar but follows
laws of its own control.
In there, it is all made of water,
breathing is difficult,
and time moves fast while muscles are stuck slow.
Emerging from the sweaty darkness
I grab for a pillow, my glasses, oxygen
and lift it, as I am supposed to in a stable environment,
and move it to my own understanding.
Last night I dreamed of violence.
It happened, graphic, to a friend then to my mother.
I was helpless so I opened my eyes.
This afternoon,
a beggar humbly kneeled on the Nathan Road sidewalk,
bowing for charity.
A piece of his head and his right arm were missing.
I put a dollar in his cup and, helpless, turned away,
questioning reality with eyes looking far up
at walking skyscrapers and head held together like a perfect circle.
Now I close my notebook on a shaking boat,
wondering when an asteroid will strike.
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The Things Underneath
The Things Underneath
