...the Word, the Line, the Way

Why don't you come around
at 3 in the morning
I'm always up
dying a little
or
living so furiously
swallowing reality
choking a little on
the dreams that I drift
from gripping consciousness to lost in the woods
of my mind
making decisions that
mean absolutely nothing
and
searching
for anything of value.

Why don't you come around
at 4 in the morning
when sights and sounds have slightly tweaked
and movements are hush
and thoughts are deafening
is this raw
or is this
imagination playing
like when you want to hear
rain
so badly that you're sure it's pouring
it must be pouring
god
why isn't it
pouring.

Everything is mellow at
5 in the morning
with a bed
and a rough-faced man
with a gorgeous
painful
voice
coming through in waves
and you're all asleep
and I wish I was
you
all
but I'm clinging
to last minutes of open eyes
and poorly working head
there just has got to be
something
more
that I can accomplish
look what I did
look what I learned
but there's bed
and
there's a melody
and
you're all asleep.

Now it's time to drown all of that poetry out.