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.