Waves of broken sleep
numb the day and
put the night in a coma,
like empty tunnels
they mined the hell out of
a century ago.
Turn back the clock
and strand me in this time change,
then full scream ahead
until I'm buried
in the same pettifogging
I was once sustained by.
Waves of plaintive water
support the loneliest creatures
that will soon fly overhead,
like hollow words,
hoping to rain on this parade
and make me cry
for abandoned impulses
closer than they appear.
If I cave to the pressure,
I'll rise from head to toe
in a swelter,
a diver with the bends
riding on high
until the hammered blow
--up and down
this elevator moves,
closing to present ritual
then opening to past stimulus
I'm far too afraid
to open my eyes to,
even if it's only
that one all too familiar
surprise...