dizzlered

Current mood: pepperstuffed

i can deal with insomnia on days off, the morning news always works to lullaby
but come ten, come twelve ellen jane my grandmother's stories are
driving me deeper
under patchy covers
mat says 'sleeping pills'
but i don't think it'd be a good idea to have them in the back
of my mind
behind my face behind the fog and condensation in the bathroom mirror
every
single
day of the year

in a week i will have dooties
things to do or shirk
and ru(l)e
the calendar

i cannot
greet the sun with z
and wake in noon's swelter
there are papers to
three r
,
minds to open up
to concepts that they need to graduate
and discard

there are photographs to take

of those that will otherwise fade crumbling un-or-little-photo
graphed

how will i do this
tv asks me
if i do not have the clocks set for dreaming

my face will break out
and my legs will pour
the shakes and stutters
will be come my come ons
and my eyes
beautiful pools of chocolate shit brown
unfathomably deep
will pucker
and rupture and
wither away

there willbe no one to feed the pets
following my to the sarcophagi
filling the holes
voided by donated organs
that will pipe and play
beautiful western songs

about
open prarie sky
.
they will never see that i have become

finally blue