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 ...

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