... poetry ...


Stroke my ego and stop

Those terrors from

Snapping at my nakedness.

“I can’t find the fastest way out of here,

But I’m certain that I see light at the

End of this long corridor.”

She isn’t going to follow you

Into this dark hole.  She isn’t

Excited about these things.

If sleep finds you wanting,

She will leave you breathless.

So to counter these thoughts,

(and many others like them)

I smoke it in, find the right groove

(laying diamond needle to flimsy vinyl)

And proceed to find a way to

Dance with the Terrors.  The

Claws.  The Damsels.  The Trinkets.

All spinning wildly throughout the night

In gay circles.


2 thoughts on “sleep

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