no sleep, and the dark tastes like
yesterday
[last night i dreamed of rushing through a small town
in a raging thunderstorm
on my way to get somewhere
and there were women in the road, unmoving
when i sighed and wished they’d hurry up
one of them was struck by lightning
and every time she stood up
i wished she’d move again
out of the way, so i could go
and she got struck again
electricity arcing through her arms and legs
like a cartoon
the buzz like a bug zapper
plugged into an amp
i don’t know where this came from, lady cops and ambulances
asking did i see the lightning strike
did i see where she got hit
and then i was walking past the house i lived in
fifteen years ago
i recognized the paint, the driveway
my old chevette parked there at an angle
and i turned around and walked the other way
leaving behind a dead rabbit and a can of beer
in the road]
in the house, now, there is only the humming of the mac
sitting on the dresser
and the faint thump of the music
from the house across the street
i find it comforting, to hear it
lets me know that there is life nearby
that we are not inside a vacuum
though most days, i’d prefer it
if we were.
earlier there was talk of
permanence, and my neuroses tumbled out like
something metaphorical
that tumbles
i can’t think
insert analogy here
my mouth should have barbed wire stretched across it
to keep in the things that should be left
safe and warm inside my head
when i said it would be easier
i meant logistically
for practicality, for making it work out
i wish i had his trusting hippie sensibility.
no sleep, and the melatonin makes me bleary
in the head, eyeballs fuzzing over with the
mold of leftover thoughts
left out too long
i can barely stay awake now
and sleep tastes like
yesterday.

i want to cut and paste my thoughts
into a ransom note
send it to you and
wait on the corner
by the trash can, inconspicuous
till you show up, sparse and furtive
to make the drop.