Poetry: Dreams of an Insomniac

Photo by Stella Mazurek


I look up for the fastest ways

to get down. 

I can see my back to the ground

sinking into the air 

as the sidewalks wrap themselves

around me in a cold embrace. 

The flytrap has caught yet another ant. 



Roses growing out the curbs of 3rd and 11th street

gave you a bone to pick with me. 

You’re mouthing certain words

only I could make out. 

Did I ever tell you

how intimate it is to whisper?

I come closer 

but all I hear is the hostility

of wheels against rail. 



The bed rocks to the rumble of the train passing by, 

My back to you, I feel shifting. 

I turn to say goodbye but

Stand clear of the closing doors, please.

you’re long gone. 

I don’t remember inviting you over. 

And soon

Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize for the unavoidable delay. 

I won’t remember you. 

This article originally appeared in The Reorientation Issue, published September 7, 2021.