the wind blows
the rain pours
and I am in my Ouroboros
you know
the feeling of the baby
when it returns to a deep sleep
after a good feeding
or what my barber feels
as he sits and waits in his customers' chair
the one that faces the window
looking out onto the street
where he sees the raindrops bouncing on the sidewalk
and on the road
mesmerized like I am now
like the baby is then
like the president feels between meetings
like the philosopher between thoughts
Yet I am in-between nothing
or only in-between the sheets of my bed
dreamily watching
tree patterns made by the momentary sun
or the sudden movements
of doctor daddy and mommy nurse
my shrink has arrived
I shall sleep my eyes on his face
and I will never tell him
of my dread of the city and the push of the people
nor how noise blackens my stomach