reminds me of the time I ran away from home, when I was seven, and how, sitting on some nearby train tracks and staring down them, the birch and maple on either side of them seemed to grow as silent and pensive as I felt about my mother’s condition, which seemed to arise out of …
Comatose
Often, in the morning before work, I’ll sit in my chair, and a part of me will start to feel like it’s fading away. I can feel a kind of comatose coming on, and I worry I’ll either bite my tongue off in a seizure-like middle place between sleep and waking, or just straight out …
My Poety Place 