Wednesday, February 23, 2011

275. Notes before Sleep

a small light opens up in the darkness
might be a reflection

two dormers outside may be Dutch children
those who wear wooden shoes

darkness accrues slowly
surprising me by having filled the room

I work by light but within darkness
my fingers can type even with eyes closed

tribulations of the day are blunted by night
everything is stubby and indistinct beyond this screen

the workings of the heart start crunching
crunching is like the heartbeats are all off and piled atop each other

a sound to the voice that is only breathing
eyes stitched shut with eyelashes

the cat pads heavily around the bed
I have no sight of him and may myself be afloat on a motionless black sea

deep snow outside from many snowfalls
fall is buried somewhere beneath it all

the house across the street looks at me with six eyes
one streetlight glows muddy through the gauzy curtain to my left

I cannot see the car passing before the house
only the reflection of its lights along the edge of my window

the day came and went in sleeps and starts
still fighting an infection inside my body

the world from here is as hazy as my mind
my feet invisible

a small music begins as steam enters the radiator
a slow clicking that increases with time

I cannot sing to the radiator’s tune
but I cannot sing

two days’ worth of papers beside me is a vague lightness
they rest on a chair I cannot see

my stomach tells me too insistently that it is here
something like the pain of hunger without hunger

some reflections I cannot interpret
they may be on my window or not

I generally avoid sleep as long as I can
only dreams are accomplished by sleeping

the bed is too warm
the bed cannot keep me warm enough

go ahead and figure it out
the body never stays stable

an entire continent separates us
yet sometimes not

we are given by taking
we are taken by giving

words make no sense except that we accept they do
words are sounds alive in the world

my stomach grumbles
it also sounds like a crunchiness

a tendency to write deep into the night
an urgency to sleep when it is done

squirrel sleep invisibly in the trees
even with two giant maples in my front yard I can see neither

the inclination of infection is to fester
mine has dissipated but seems interested in rebirth

if I close my eyes even the smallest lights go out
nothing reflects off the backs of my eyelids

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