Meaningless thoughts came on dancing
as I tried to do meaningful stuff.
Questions arose with no need for an answer,
they popped up in the middle of laundry.
For dreamers reality isn’t enough.
At times I must be in the twilight zone of reason,
in words hiding behind the books on the shelf,
where impossible makes sense and all can be,
where you can find me as the one to hold on to
and in the mean time the laundry washes itself.