It comes and goes slyly,
haunting this pillow,
a sculpture of time I never
knew dreamed, created like that,
artistic, but deconstructing me
and my health.
But its balance is due,
to me, to attempt working
toward this destination.
I can't tell when it will begin
to pay dividends,
bring sanity to me.
Act as though you never
knew it, this impression on work,
nerves that string along as
though they were friendly,
they connive to drain beer
as it drugs Styrofoam.
A vacuum of sorts, it sucks
me against the wall, against
myself, no one to tell, no one
to mask this aspect of night,
the darkness that is bright.
But now I see rationally this
escape from the rational.
Tthis mistake in not befriending
the hallucinogenic talent that takes me above
cloudy skies, with plenty of
stars staking a claim.
Trekking above is fun, but who's
kidding who when we collapse
beside a child.
Exhausted, our souls want more,
but less from us, from the day.
I drain this last keg of hope.
It's dying this, with me as I grab
onto Frodo, the ring near, but far
from ghostly people wh0 want so
desperately to let me go, let me
dream a proper dream, let me sleep.
© 2013 Larry Ingram
Welcome to the poetry web site of Larry Ingram. Larry is a poet, writer and observer of our culture.