I might get her something tomorrow morning.

I might get her something tomorrow morning.

If I am too tired

I am too tired

There is no shame in it

I barely slept

The air was as dense

As an old mule's fool

Thick as mud

Heavily layered

Turgid with latent

Sorrow

Woven into its

Tapestry,

The life squeezed out.

It lay on me

As a shroud

Every time I closed my eyes

I believed

It was the dying

Come to call

The weight of it

The sickness

Of disease

Dead meat

Hung up

To sour.

Putrifaction

Cloying at my throat

Fusing my eyes

Stitching them together

A penny for them

Summon the sorcerer

Drowning in secret

Swimming in silks

Lost

In a dog's dream

Kicking out

In half-sleep

Nothing is alive

All is half dead

I would rather

Not be roused

Than to bear

The false promise

Of one more day.