The poetry my mind composes just before falling asleep.

Standing up high, towering, surveying the landscape around me. I enjoy standing above things, somehow solitary and unified with everything all at once, probably the reason I perch on rocks when climbing or stand on chairs for no reason.  Straddling the gap, one foot on rotting canvas covering rusting chain, the other firmly planted on rough plastic rhino-hide, protective shell for the utility beast.  Stare out for a while and take in the landscape as it were then turn and grab the sheet.  Clear and razor sharp, old glass gently removed and transported to meet its final fate.  Steady myself against the ridges and bumps of the bed and press out against the rope barrier I hurl the glass out into the abyss.  It slices smoothly through the air before gradually coming to a stop and only then starting to descend.  It falls with remarkable grace, far more slowly than expected, teasing out anticipation as only an inanimate object can do.  Closer to the ground now, any second now - it's gone.  No transition from one state to the next, just glass one moment and a cloud of blue the next.  Beautiful really.

I wrote that last night just as my mind transitioned to sleep.  Actually it wasn't quite that but this is what I could make from my scrawled notes.  Note to self, work on penmanship.