I feel the poem
hiding
behind the shadow of my pen
or perhaps in the tiny crevices
of the skin on my fingers
but
I know he’s
here

somewhere

lately he’s been gone;
out drinking or perhaps
on a trip to vegas

his return is less like a
bursting through the
door
and more like
a sneaking
through the back-door as
he thinks I sleep soundly
in my bed

my eyes are open wide
as he empties his pockets
and quietly takes a ****

it must be three a.m. at least
and I haven’t slept a wink

I didn’t notice at first
but when I realized I shot
up in bed and looked
around for him to no
avail

he was gone
so I went back to bed

but,
as you know,
I could not
sleep

as he throws his shirt off and
climbs into his own bed across
the room my eyes surely glint
in the moonlight
but I doubt he
sees

he falls asleep within five
minutes

I wait there
my eyes glowing in the moonlight
then get up
hovering over his sleeping form

the knife appears from my right hand
and it too glints with my intention

I close my eyes as the strike is made
and the innocent blood splashes onto
my hands

I take it and smear my face

I open up my eyes

there is no blood
there is no body
there is no knife

there is just me
and this poem

exposed now from its hiding
place where I couldn’t see

I close my eyes again

his eyes are open now
my pen is sitting in my hand
I open my eyes as they
glint in the moonlight
just as mine did in my
double-think creation

this is the nature of my
art