I Can Hear My Sleep

Twitching in the legs of the bug outside
fluttering in the fluorescent-drenched moth
tickling in the wind on my cheek

I can hear my sleep.

Soft breaths pulled in like the evening tide
counting the blackness and make-believe stars
washing your face off my cooling mind

I can hear my sleep.

Picturing the clothes I’ve torn off the night
putting to bed the id and her playmate
walking the dog who barks in my head

I can hear my sleep.

This Life

I want the wish to last
the crystalline clouds hanging over trees of ashes
no less composed than the crayola sunshine on the paper
in front of us.

I want the picture to real
the smiles we plaster to melt when they’re wet
the hands we hold warm and perpetually fused together
as we stare into the open air
ready to face the world.

I want the change to change me
the foreign wakefulness of sleep
the chance to dream in REM stages
the bedding I choose to suit me for me

I want the newness of life, this life
to rip the wrong right out of me.

Dreamless Sleep*

“He still wondered, as he felt himself drifting off.”

Slouching sleepiness
found in the creases of your collar,
your sleeves unrolled and sliding open around your wrists
like two pale-tongued dragons.

You sink to the mattress like a sack of flour
bathing your feet in the dim light
and unfolding under the covers.

Your mind cannot put the cover back on the mason jar
so your spilled conscience drips into the crevice beyond your eyes.

The dreamless sleep you invoke will prey onto your soul
but only for the cycles where your eyes are closed.

*Prompt of the week was to write down the 11th line of the 37th page in the book closest to you, and write a poem springing from that line. Mine was a manuscript of one my own novels.