On the Edge of Sleep

The only places known to be affected

Are the places made entirely of words,

But since these must exist within the mind

And on the page, 

They are easily divided into thirds.

And once split into three

They can be dealt with 

And the dreariest of scenes can be cut out,

So that what is left is better than expected

And nobody can tell what it’s about.

But one thing is for certain

I have known it,

Time and time again, to be the case 

That the places made of words

Are quite unchanging,

And the mind can always spot a dreary space

Made up of odds and ends of poor description,

Which makes these landscapes out of tiny fractions

And shies away from writing scenic fiction

Because it thinks it loves a man whose actions

Appeal to rugged types as well as nerds.