Sleep Series


Dreams are very fragile friends.
Good stories at the best of times,
but frequently
they only leave me
fade to black and do not reawaken.

Let my eyes relax
and sleep,
and do not wander back,
and keep the pretense
that I might have been mistaken.


I used to have a lesson learned,
so undeterred, I earned it,
but the words are locked
and in my pockets,
burning holes and
to have turned into a journey,
into anything
that’s better than they were.
But what’s the word?
I wonder.
Search me,
burned away before I ever heard.


Strange, awkward. Perfect.
I climb in bed again.
Hope for peace, but it’s a gamble, and
I don’t really mind.
My eyes glass over and I descend.


At last.

I am awake in a thousand ways,
when judgement waits behind
the brittle glass.