Forensic Creativity

I sit in my chair, lucid, but never free.  My mind searches the channels that can be, and no thought evolves into a creative idea, actually.  Some days it is hard to get out of bed, creatively.  I try to walk on the high wire a bit, and then I see a yellow bouncing ball beneath.  It seems to be an analogy for a ghostly being.  I am not frightened, I am just frozen in space and time.  It is okay to be there.  I finally turn around and climb down from the platform.  I see a small teddy bear, and I realize that the circus has just moved through the vicinity.  This sweet gift is from a being existing around cages, but able to set it in the scene, perfectly.  I know that I will cling to it, nightly, as I sleep on my left side.  There was the little white stuffed dog from stalking psychiatry, but this is free of petulance.  I will sleep, nonetheless.  Dreams, both nightmarish and fanciful, will flow through as I lean on this little stuffed creature.  I will now sleep without the bars stalking.  I am free to talk to a being about his religious tradition, publicly.  It will  all make sense later.  The forensics of that conversation hide his ideal pick ax.  Maybe that is how he sees me.  A being to just be without admitting to any kind of sight.  He will now study and steady a crew, that is already made and fresh, to be useful on those days when everyone falls through.  The facts of me and my true life are circulating, and steam is emanating from his back as his mind collates the scene again.