The sharp cold corners of the day

Deny the soft foundries where the I

Undoes all regulation. Not location

Nor chopping minutes’ disciplines

Can marshal marching corps from liquid instances

That infiltrate the secret places of the psyche.

Here an eyelash curl can twirl a galaxy.

Here the warm flesh of sex and ecstasy

Erects municipalities of rushing blood,

Of thick fluid smells and salty flavors

Which dissolve known pathways into broken chasms.

Landscapes out of continuities erupt, slide, and slump.

Sounds bark or tinkle into coruscating creatures

That dance or threaten, invite or pursue

Bedecked in pointed talons, needle teeth,

Enrobed in smoking clouds that twist and hiss.

The waking mind cannot confront quotidian cascades

From all the senses, pure and direct.

It must shunt the horrific flow to holding pits

Where trap doors creak wide only in the dark

Wherein the exploring eye may adventure

Safely cloaked in the insanity of sleep.


One thought on “Sleep

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