Poetry: Dreams of an Insomniac
I.
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.
II.
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.
III.
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.
