North of Sleep

North of Sleep

At night, 

my body is a compass
swinging to every direction:

past borderlands, 

the ruins of unknown, 

empty streets 

en route 

to elsewhere,

slipping into rooms 

where bearings 

jolt me to a 

wakefulness of frigid air

and dormant train tracks 

wait to halt traffic 

twice a day.

By morning, 

I approach nausea,
relentless calls 

to speak some truth,
a light with no shadow 

but a heaviness. 

The howl, dragged 

from northern lights
I couldn’t even understand.

I stop, let my soul 

go on ahead.

Show me.

(Shouting now.)

Show me.

(Frightened now.)

The flaked ceiling points 

to a bitten fingernail scratch  

throwing grief across the back

as a one perfect window 

diffuses time.

Noodles & coffee: 

in a fractal tell a 

haunting dirty knot 

of restless 

grime & eyes 

bleeding in dreams 

of forest.

Rise blind.

Reset automatically

to metabolism 

& panic.

A syncopated 

hallucination.

:: Note :: ... watched lightening over water ... wondered on krapps last tape ... wanted to remember lear ... was the face of my mother ... 1, 3, 5, 7, 9, 11, 13 ... the year of the black dragon ... canada post stamp ...