Thursday, May 18, 2017


You can see it
even now,

in relief against
the bleak and colorless

light of dry day—not so much
the slack and ruinous

drowsy cotton
cloud of an idea—but

the actual word;
a fierce but impotent emblem,

with its alluring snakes
of composite ciphers,

emblazoned (in all-caps)
across a slab

of cool pink
tombstone marble:

SLEEP—the silent
and ultimate temptation;

the one that has
no need

to negotiate.
It only has

to wait—
curled and tightly quiet

in every bleak and undusted
corner of your life

for luster
to fade,

for your resolve
to falter,

for the inevitable moment—
you start to ask yourself whether

you might
not rather—sacrifice time

in the name
of some space.