There’s some days
That piercing ring prevails
all systems suspend
no reboot, the icon revolves
splendid in perfect orbit
I’m shutting down
System overload
All the voices say nothing
so I will sleep
the dreams of the Dead
Shelter in place
wrapped in blankets of memory
Those most familiar and intimate
parts of your mind
Only your key to unlock
So we’ll pretend today didn’t happen
With only a breath
Across your naked expanse
Your flame extinguished
Sleep, edition 1
Commences late evening
Stunted, premature
Trolling for something deeper
Sleep 1.5, 10:45 PM
patches successful
Escape the 11:00 PM horror
Where you dive this pool is deep
Where you find true expression
all fangs bared
your subconscious glares
annoyed at your pathetic naivete
At midnight REM and escape
to last until that hour
Sleep 2.0 override
2:51 AM wont leave you alone
Still awake or still asleep
No longer sure of either
The time when chaos takes the helm
When disordered thoughts overwhelm
The moment where you are sleeping
through the time that you’ve stopped keeping
In jars, unlabeled
Like offers never tabled
and you’re no longer able
to find your place
in a world gone mad
Seeing we’ve been had
by those smiling faces
Filling empty spaces
You wouldn’t know were there
if they didn’t pretend to care
The clarity of nothing shines true
From darkened hills of mystery
She proceeds westward
across the deep veins
in green vales
and forest
The earth unfolds her womb
and welcomes the children
to explore her depths
Like ants they crawl
across her scars
She holds no promise
that she’ll not close upon them
and swallow
In the shadow of November’s remembrance
muddy chunks mirror
blood and soil of a hundred years
Where there were spilled
Over a hundred beers
The alleyway lies ruptured
pulsating arteries breath in the grey
and diesel fume
to the generator’s chorus
Three-quarter horsepower marks the time
While surgeons in coveralls and hard hats
rush to stem the bleeding
Tonight in their homes
at warm dinner tables
they will shrug off their heroics
and the city will limp on
A spare and lonely lot
now the workmen have all gone
Carhartts employed in other gigs
Remaining pallets draped in tarps
and tools of a season
stowed in dusty corners
To be uncovered of leaves and dead stinkbugs
when grasses green again
Or instead, one may ponder
the fate entombed in bins
To ride the sides of trucks
contracting, brittle
and bathed in salt
