zzz

night's limbo is retrospective,
lights whim & akimbo and the shadows are epileptic
but stiller than still— this is me leaning on my windowsill,
testing nonsleep's nimble rim till I tumble upwards etched & wrenched come early morn,
thinking what my wallclock must think of time & I
hounding sane, sound sounds, dreaming of the brick tongues of fireflies
and the many realms of the weather.

god yes
such as
well I

have you ever tried miming a dialogue with a handheld moment
only to find its spasm as warm as a cat's ninth life?
and that the past that the present has passed is a limber lie
from the moment your eyes pretend to memorize it?
well, sorry, I don't speak eyeese. if I try it's all wink & wheeze until language comes along.
at least then I know what to call it, one of its manyshaped names.

od yesg
uch ass
ell Iw

that's what monologue gets you, negotiations with pieslices of time
till your throat is dry & spidery and you're dying to be tired
but the glow attracts little insecty flyingthings, I don't even know what to call them,
I can only see them in flickety wisps and they hardly speak any damn lingo,
eyeese or tongueese or earese. just sitting on my white roof roosting.
dead or otherwise vanished in the morning. I left that wasp in my bookcase after I popped him,
and the gnat on my wall, little citybug scarecrows, but the effect is negligible.

d yesgo
ch assu
ll Iwe

the sea rumbles past waxing waning, a Doppler seashellshout pulled by the moon.
cablights climb windows.
zzzoomtime soon.