Saturday, July 10, 2010

i keep telling myself

Where were you love last night, when my heart

was pitching and whirling like a sailboat

in a high-break sea?

My dreams nightmares and nightmares dreams,

I woke up with Death in the sheets next to me.

He laughed and shook his scythe.

He knew it was a lie, he knew he was just being efficient

scaring the shit out of me, that fuckheaded bastard,

he made a face and said he was havin' such a good time,

working for free on his offday, no killing,

no taking-of-prisoners-to-the-great-blue-fiery yonder,

just scaring, like halloween.

But without the candy?

The candy is essential for shitless-scared nights,

nights when you're not next to me

but the nightmare is, when

it's not right it's all wrong and not real,

and then I wake to a pillow,

lime-green in a house I don't know

on an air mattress, hungover

or under my grandpa's dried open eyes.

(Everyone else's overseas somewhere.)

There's no punchline, just a harrowing arcing climb.

There are a million stars in the sky, lovely

stars, constant;

but too much humidity to find

them or sometimes,

to even breathe.

As I woke I started thinking about Rumi,

about weeping, about just wanting to exist.

I sat up in the dark bed and knew it was okay.

The shadow of the old man and

Death-on-holiday were invisible.

I cleared my throat and tried to think:

The stars are up there firing off,

making newer and better lights

and there's nothing I can do to

stop them, though I'd give it a go.

That's what I told myself,

and keep telling myself,

until this hibernation is over;

until my insides expand again and quiet this dull night roar;

or when at last the morning winks at me,

and I find you on the other side of the sheets, grinning,

a smile on your morning voice.

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