July 23, 2022Poem
When sleep comes
lossnaturepoliticsmemorytimeidentity
When sleep comes
There is always a wailing
An unmet need
The stripping of flesh
Old bones clamouring for life
Shoulder blades that once were wings
Empty eye sockets
Wet with tears
The ripping of rotting wood
As soil fills the hole
Lungs, sad sacks full of blowflies
The sun, an ancient memory
Hammering new nails into my wrists
Shadows as dark as night
Screaming into an inferno
Of memories
Every one burned into my soul
Waiting for the resurrection
Remembering other lives
Before the fall
Waking in a cold sweat
On a sea of hot coals
Floating in amber
Waking again to a mourning
The day almost done
Forgetting to take notes
Moving forward without recall
But there is an itch
Out of reach
Buried in marrow
Scars that never heal
And can not be scratched
No matter how long my nails.