deepundergroundpoetry.com
Awake, Awake
sometimes i wake with the
sheets like snakes wound around
my ankles
stare at the dried paint
pointing down from above
in tiny, judgmental stalactites
out of the murk, relieved,
emerge wide awake, sighing,
"it's morning."
but, moored there,
i let myself sink a league,
or two,
to feel again—
the campfire's coals,
too hot to touch
and cold to warm,
and the people
with transparent skin waving,
the scribbled paper and
the whites of its i staring
blankly with an aphorism
or two, the maudlin palm tree
knocking on the window
to be invited in from the darkness
into a brighter night.
sheets like snakes wound around
my ankles
stare at the dried paint
pointing down from above
in tiny, judgmental stalactites
out of the murk, relieved,
emerge wide awake, sighing,
"it's morning."
but, moored there,
i let myself sink a league,
or two,
to feel again—
the campfire's coals,
too hot to touch
and cold to warm,
and the people
with transparent skin waving,
the scribbled paper and
the whites of its i staring
blankly with an aphorism
or two, the maudlin palm tree
knocking on the window
to be invited in from the darkness
into a brighter night.
Published 28th Dec 2017
| Edited 29th Dec 2017
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