I lie here, tossing in my bed,
red, my eyes, brimmed wide,
hide, I can’t — not where sleep stumbles at my bedroom door;
floor, it crouches, time and time again,
pain be the strain of its Deathwatch-beetle-like ticking–
Sticking, awareness clings like mucus to the wall,
loll, be its sacred taunt;
haunt; a restless mime—
rhyme, nursery—elementary, the songs are nameless,
faceless, despite the familiar,
linear brothel-like calls of night,
plight? Mine be mute—
acute—sombre, listless; countless be the tasselled sheep,
deep be the mounds of pixel dust, where they fell,
telltale signs, though blurry, though strange,
engage my weary curiosity;
will I then deny myself the cry of these springs?
Will I bide myself in these screaming truths,
Pooh! Lo, these truths are fugitive,
Cognitive, pretentious, why come they only at night,
might they be as shy as the shame they carry?
Tarry, they dance around my eye’s edges—
Hedges– lashes, blurred with fie, for, the lie that cures never heals.
Heels, my mouth tastes like heels, heels, heels,
Feels just as dry, just as cracked, just as lame,
Blame? Who, what, how, why?
Sigh, I lie awake, a hand under the pillow tucked,
Fucked, I am— fucked until the creaky bed goes numb,
Crumb by crumb, it lays its traps of sleep…