Tuesday, September 30, 2008


It is well beyond the witching hour

And I am restless in the early-morning night,

Dreaming with my eyes open

As my lover sleeps on

Unaware of my wanderings, a pen between my teeth,

My fingers twisting this hair too short to be my own (and yet it is),

The passing cars move so fast

On the road below my window,

And out beyond my sight

Something is pulling the tides in my veins

Stirring my need to escape--

I'm strung out on waiting to recognize myself

In this place that seems haunted

By the ghosts of dreams,

I wander and my thoughts stray to desert nights

Ancient as two summers ago,

Hiding from the burning sun

In caves filled with the images of hands

My hands on my bare shoulders--

Crossed arms holding in a thudding heart

As the radiator here and now

Bangs out a protest to the hour,

I throw my head back

Hoping all my doubts will pour out,

Feeling, perhaps, like the sweat

Sliding down my spine,

As I seek the rusted-out places within me,

I press my forhead to the rain-washed window--

Streetlights blurred by the night

And my eyes that burn with the need for sleep,

I imagine my wounds not gone

But sucked down deep,

The scars raw behind my eyes,

Their ropes binding my breath,

Squeezing it into sighs

And gasps of half-forgotten terror in the night,

And I wonder how others can sleep,

If their lives, like mine,

Come bubbling up like mercury--

Dangerous and tempting beads of silver

Slipping away from the pressure of thought,

And out into the night