Ice picks of light
scatter goofy dream critters as they
scoot back down
underground
to continue undermining
my precarious reality.

They are cute as hell, figments
of fascination,
shyly appearing only after
day lids are securely shut
and the depth of dark becomes unfathomable.

Harmless little varmints, they seem,
but are voracious, insatiable root eaters
gnawing vigorously at the raw under-pinnings of the official Me.

Mind engineers are baffled.
Exterminators just laugh.
Freudian analysts simply throw up their hands.

And I am kind of glad.

Now, I can finally retire,
gracefully,
to my favorite place,
where flurries of free range critters
scurry and roam;
...A Homey Island Of The MInd.

The projections for eventual over-population are still unknown.

But, this I do know;

when I go,
I will go down...giggling!