horizontal and reality

while still horizontal
i seem to have a firmer grip on unreality.
so the mornings are good,
before i rise,
and the evenings too.
in between are the hard times
and then the horizontal times seem too simple.
but in the cool of the day,
the rest of the day seems too complicated.
which is real?
how can i, from the inside, tell?
when the tv starts messing with archie,
is it the real archie-show,
or is it a version just for my ears?
[later...]
it's 8.30 in the evening on sunday night now,
and i type first off to stave off boredom,
complication, complicity, and other word play.
i type to avoid the awful tuth that i'm alone
('no you're not!' calls the god from the corner).
i type to pass the time.
i type because it's the most creative thing i can do right now.
i want to create because i've been all input these
many months,
and some output wells within.
i want to create because i'm reading a wild novel,
lamb,
and i want to respond in kind.