Slow burn from nightly daze
You aren't where I am.
Eye strain
with biting conviction
swallowed ambivalence
descends.
Do you still exist
as one, lost in the maze?
Your weight of wisdom
is vague and tangled here.
Tumult is the alarm clock.
You are the clock that strikes twelve.

Phrases like roadkill
An overdone face.
Do words fall out my mouth
like the teeth in my dreams

In the wakeful night
I'm never lifted
where the moon eludes me
in wavelets of despondency