It’s like sleep is treason. I disembark from a loadstone
and revolve around an endless disjoint.
It’s like being exposed to the radioactivity of a dead god.
but with graven images on your hands
and the milk of human blindness
in a butter churn -
you never ****
with.
udders are like fountains of wane
when your thirst is preternatural
and your tongue
as tethered to
Tantalus
as every hour at beck and call
is only listening to you breathe
through your mouth
when you have
nothing to say.
It’s like sleep is treason, gussied up in pinched gold filings
and rust burnt daffodils. it’s like  not attending the beginning -
but claiming to be a witness. more a rumor fog-
on your windshield...
telling the curve of the world that your road
leads to answers.
sleep is mocked by the hemisphere we believe in.
unraveled and plucked from-
dim glories to face the brutal happening
of being Alive.
sleep
is how having no choice
tells you how to be awake
when the time comes to be asleep
through a war you can’t win
until you betray the comfort
of your Albatross-
and your world-class indifference
to the Mystery
of You.
Sleep can never lay siege to the tyranny of your Illusions
but can always discontinue your savage love
as it Is.
within you.
this species of sleep has all your tears in a box
and all your hope in ivory towers
of Strange Rodeo.