Sweet Dreams

Grief can take me to bed,

awaiting the completion of the process

that changes my thinking from muddled

to pluripotent once again.

Outside my mattress cocoon is the rest of life.

Whatever that will entail.

Inside are the very slow growing cells that

will completely replace my liver in three weeks.

I don't count on anything anymore.

You couldn't brain wash me now.

That portal has shut.

Each agnostic prayer

is to be made different.