Imp

One of those 3 am type poems.

Mischievous spirit
Roaming in my brain
Curl me a memory
That hasn’t got much pain

Disorganize the 80s
And mix up my teens
Jumble it all
Into a series of scenes

Weird little imp
As I drift out of wake
I wonder what kind
Of dream you will make

Every night without fail
A new puzzle for me
Every morning I wake
With a new mystery