When night falls,
The demons sing their calls,
But beware
You may be led to a ball,
Dancing, singing, and a glamorous dress,
May all lead to your distress,
As singing and dancing
Leads to wailing and screaming
The ones who called you to this ball,
Will gather around you,
Looking at you,
Appalled.
So you slunk away in your dress
Worn, and tattered by slides and steps,
Back to your room,
Move along.
Back to your room
As you cry and sob.
When you cry in bed,
Comfort starts to fill your head,
The warm sensation of blankets and pillows
Makes you sleep happily.
finally

Come and lay your body
upon my empty bed,
and pour your
scent on its sheets

Whisper of your pain
and glee to my pillow,
and leave a lock of your
red-brown hair under it

Only then will I
be able to sleep,
and my eyes will
no longer weep

I love my jimjam
Jabama jabamers  
You calls ‘em PJs
Some call ‘em pajamas

My jimjams are old
And all busted up
There’s a hole in the sleeve
Where my elbow snuck

But they still fit well
Real snug as can be
Though threads from my cuffs
Do dip in my tea

But the buttons still hold
And the pocket still carries
They keeps me warm at night
When the winter tarries

So I pop on my jimjams
‘For I hop into bed
And I curl up real tight
Once my prayers are said

I love my jimjam
Jabama jabamers
You calls ‘em PJs
Some call ‘em pajamas

tedious tardy sleeps are the latest commodity
my advisor‘s eulogized,
though I have dealt with it
for as long as ever.

since I do that exceedingly well.
just once I’d wish to sink into bed,
shut my eyes for a shielded moment,
and find myself revived afterwards.

perhaps my life is
too cluttered with uncertainties,
so my bedlam body unlearned to be happy.

instead, a high demand of despondency
is expected to be appeased by
the insomniac stakeholders of my remains.

Coffee stains on white sheets
Only spots and insignificant
When I inhale your bare face
Into my womb, hide safe in me.

within, or rather in between, whomsoever was present.
like a good party crasher, he becomes the life of the party,
joking, dancing, womanizing (the sun so very much a man!)
singing his anthems, commencing with “Here Comes the Sun,” followed by every other  sun~song known to the celestials, concluding near around 4:00AM  with his rendition of Garth Brook’s classic:

”Ain't going down 'til the sun comes up
Ain't givin' in 'til they get enough
Going 'round the world in a pickup truck
Ain't goin' down 'til the sun comes up”

the ladies, especially Venus, all quite smitten, purring like kittens,
took that as a personal invite-ta-tion, and I swear that night many
comets were created.

If you feeling a surprising heating
in your bed tonight,
don’t be afraid,
it’s just me feeling sunny...


7/17/20

There’s a dull ache, in my stomach,
and it pushes me down, covers
my skin and it’s scars,
and I can’t stop flirting with the pain.

I’m asking it to reveal itself,
show me what it has, if it dares,
but I can’t help but wonder,
how you’d feel in the palm of my hand -

I wake to that sense of familiarity,
of the outline of your face, and the jaw
that locks itself in my brain,
the dark, murky waters of my chest.

Let’s move from our bed, the one that
used to be mine - now it’s shared
with you and your demons
as their legs lock, intertwined.

Show me more, and more,
ignore the way my heart screams silently.
I can feel the roughness of your cheek
in my dream, but that’ll be all.