Friday, May 10, 2013
Sleep on the Lam
Abandoned by Morpheus
I dread the dead of night:
the tangled bedclothes,
the pillow I fight,
the clock on my nightstand, stabbing the dark
with merciless digits of light.
Marauding words and worries
spend the night inside my head:
an unfinished poem,
an apology unsaid,
an obstinate tune, persisting ‘til dawn
holds me hostage in my own bed.
My roommates are accomplices
to this robbery taking place:
a man with a chain saw,
a cat stealing space,
a brute in the ceiling that bucks and roars
while waving its arms in my face.
The world outside my window
adds the blow that seals my fate:
the hoot of a night owl,
the shrieking of brakes,
the hoodlum next door who murders my sleep
with that wake-the-dead music he plays.
I long for the balm of the body bag
and promise not to tell
if you hurl me into a whirlpool,
or down a lovely well,
or poison me with the Nightshade tea
that will end this lidless hell.