Thursday, July 9, 2009

insomnia

.
One of the worst
sounds in my life
is the rush of sleep
coming for me; it's
screaming paralysis
flickering and hissing,
I jerk my head.

there were demons
before the Church
saved my Savior in a
Sunday dress; in some
handsome weeks I
closed my eyes to drift
away, lucid landscapes
faceless friends stepping
silent paths, incredible
trees, floods low enough
to wade through.

walking before waking,
a hand through a wall
behind a switch for light,
my sinking feet, jump
back paralyzed with a
shadow on my chest,
faceless, holding my
breath to shift an inch,
to replace that hiss
with the sound of a heavy
heart sprinting, sitting
suddenly upright shaking,
staring hard into my hands.

One of the worst
sounds in my life
is the rush of sleep
coming for me
between silent
winds in clouds with
arms outstretched
and the silence of
a dark place to rest
before the sun says
it's tomorrow.
.

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