08 June 2009


(diminishing form #23)

And it’s those kind of nights again
locked up inside a tired skull
that begs to betray with foul dreams and dark sweating sheet tangling thrashing
so cigarettes and coffee and cocaine aren’t helping
can only help so much

the reversed landscape on the ceiling
those cracks and shadows in the plaster
are difficult for these failing eyes
to travel again

I am wishing for a new vista
but that is not a possibility
not tonight

a field of light begins to grow
in what I suppose must be the eastern sky

too little too late too often

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