Thursday, December 25, 2008

Wakewalker, I

Where the doors don't open

And the windows, they look in upon themselves


And my gums bleed ceaselessly, but only at night

And the sink is chipped from falling teeth

And the mirror is purple bruises and scared smiles

But I'm not standing there.


All the lights are talking to each other

As the stairs multiply until I can't see the bottom.


Down, I look, and the carpet is a wasteland

But it feels safer where everything begins.


Back inside the mirror my eyes are whispering secrets

I only begin to recall.

Reds and pale pinks, of sunset hours past.


Oh, yes... today...

It drew on like glass flows

Or prison life

Until even the clocks grew weary.


As a hundred million dictionaries forget the meaning of patience,

I awaken, under a canopy of cherry blossoms

And dead stars.


Sleepwalker, I. And wakewalker, I the fool.


I shuffle back to the mirror once more.


...looking for signs of change.

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