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NNadir Donating Member (1000+ posts) Send PM | Profile | Ignore Sun Jan-15-06 12:30 PM
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8. The day.
Insomnia.

We have heard of it:
This languid singing, the night,
And so lie longing.

Dreaming.

The screams fall to earth
A kind of gelatin curse
Flesh, all flesh, the dark.

Awake.

The cups that hold us
Say nothing of the cold sun
Or suspended clouds

Conscious.

What we dream is dire,
The drifts, the wire, muddy snow,
Passage, passage, test.

Feed.

What whine is this red?
How do our skies rain such blood?
Who will tell us this?

Rest.

Death, we say, is sleep.
The moons come. They are our hours,
The slow trudge of pain.

Lie.

We embrace these voids.
The Pleiades have no comment.
Still we think they sigh.

NNadir - 1/15/06



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