Sleep Demons

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It’s not our fault, the night
Racing in to become the pace car to our heart rate
That it might conquer

Why weave these words, darkness, ’round our ankles?
Utterances we used to need to hear, that would have us walking tall?

I can’t say your name, but your number, I know
‘Til my last breath, I call you the liar you be

Your wishing to blackmail
Your attempt to bruise
Reality we now enjoy

Ask us to wrestle, and wrestle we will
For you have lost us
To flowers and fauna
Forever to smiles from friends

Again
And over again

Aching Sunday

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Tremendous love, resides inside

As an aria
Weightless and burdensome
How is it that such fullness
This nothing less than aching
Arrives and leaves me
Walking
Feeling
As a ghost on Sunday
An otherwise fine, fine day

And there are no ears to touch?

Ranking

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Space, the enemy
Distance, a demon

Molecules collect between us, acting as some referee to our match
Banished to our corners before the fight begins

If these lacerations and these mangled bones, inflamed, remain this slow to heal
If Winter wishes to outrank

Then we want our angels

Blue Boy

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The wind blew him in, the one I noticed

Late fall or early — does it matter, for he was the perfect shades of blue and blush

Minding his own damn business, but for feasting in my wildflower garden

I had seed to spare and time

There was not a thing more important than to study an old-new friend that day

Eastern not Western, and I knew him some lifetime before