right as sleep took over my mind i had a brilliant idea

but through the fog i convinced myself i would remember instead of writing it down

now it is the memory of an idea with no substance

taken over by a dream i rode a bicycle across europe

hooked a sharp right and rode through africa

it was a beautiful trip in search of something

and ended with being unable to type my address into my phone correctly to get a map home

this is a recurring theme

i can say my address

think it

but my fingers fumble it as i try to type it in

what is my brain trying to say

you can never go home

it isn’t really where i want to go

it becomes increasingly frustrating

mistyping

fumbling the phone

and i am always somewhere i know i will get lost without it

this segment repeats once a week

and then i wake

in this jail cell

and ponder my unwillingness to come home

and this idea that was so brilliant

just out of reach

on the tip of my lobe

taunting me like the dream

i am at a crossroads

and i need to find a compass to set me in the path to home

to open that door and stumble into loving arms

or i will spend the day searching for that hidden idea of greatness

and stumble about

unable or unwilling to find my place

who knows