All gone now
and you're nothing
but a wound
cracking open
at 3 am- unsolicited

-Farewell, my beloved! Is there a farewell at all?
Every kiss you blew me
was a kiss goodbye
Every inch of skin
that caressed yours
was a vow
I bestowed
to love you
forever and ever more.
And the wine in my veins
says shut up! He's gone
And the cigarette smoke
takes you away from me
And all these men I toy with
they are nothing like you.


I've missed the train
of my thoughts
I sit back
and gaze at them
from afar
taking you away
I call out your name
but there are no words
I am stuck in nirvana
or else-
in sheer garrulous void
without you.

Who opened this wound anyway?
I'm sure it was open
from the scratch
I just couldn't feel it
bleeding me away.


Only a caress away
but I'm a *****
in your eyes
a ******* ***** *****
with no feelings
I can defend
my dignity only
before the strike
of midnight
that breaks my heart
spills my ***** feelings
all over my face
I love you
but it's dark at this hour
and you're too ******* blind.

~who shuts our eyes in calms of beastlike sleep.
—John Balaban, "Riding Westward", Gift of Tongues

Spinning off self after self
written April 20th, 2020

After a lifetime
of being afraid
to close my eyes
for what demons
might come
while I sleep
unable to defend myself

I ask who will protect us
as we sleep
unguarded
from the terrors of the past?

I shuffle through selves
like cards in a deck
spinning off self after self
searching for just one
who can close their eyes
in calms of beastlike sleep.

Stars spinning overhead
written June 16th, 1997

stars spinning overhead
the trials start each night

it seems this once stable earth
has become a wild carnival ride

as i lay me down to sleep
i pray the lord my soul to keep

each night this seeming reality
plunges me deeper into fright

like a never ending free-fall
drowning without dying

ever persistent these things in the night
what more do i have to give?

awake until i'm dizzy
till i finally take to my bed

but it seems that nothing
can protect me in the night

from the stars spinning overhead

If I spill my fear onto a page, I hope
I will at last be fit to to cope
By carefully crafting verses that can shelve my pain
And apathetically alliterating anxiety away
Perhaps then
I’ll be able to sleep again

But that which devours me and keeps me in chains
Will choke on the blood that runs through His veins

There's a saxophonist that insists on keeping me awake
Blaring, drowning in the noise
Taking in spit and saliva from the reed
And going at it again
With fervorous gusts of screeches and yells

There's a horse that insists on keeping me awake
Neigh, he says, to the summer heat
And say he does, proclaim he does
Loudly, proudly, ever more
The morning light rises above him

There's cicadas insisting on keeping me awake
Buzz, chirp, skree, zumm
That is what they say, and what a fruitful talk
I'm sure it must be riveting since they want me to hear it
If only I spoke their tongue

There's a brain that insists on keeping me awake
Loud yells of bygone memories
Honest mistakes of the last decade
Fears of tomorrow, fears of today
What's the saxophone, horse and cicadas matter if I couldn't sleep anyway?

Written on my soul
written May 17th, 2021

Some poems
are written
with pen and paper
in the light of day.

Other poems
are written on my soul
when the night is so thick
no light will pierce it.

They all come from the same place
and must be written
either easily or through hard labor
with trembling and tears
ink the color of blood
waiting for dawn
to reveal what was written
the night before.

Often I am scared to look
and fold it away
to look at another day
when I am feeling stronger.

What was written
on your soul last night?

Still Night
written May 14th, 2021

The stillness
of dark night
surrounds me
swallowing the light
suspending animation
sinisterly whispering
stealing my breath
stifling me

and I wonder
how long will it be
still night.

I wait
written May 9th, 2021

I wait
for the sun to rise
so I can see
if the trees
still reside
outside.

I wait
for those who slumber
to wake
so there is the possibility
of  . . . ?

I wait
to know the question
so I can search
for the answer.

I wait
to find the key
that makes it all
make sense.

I wait
for the tears
to start?
to stop?
to know why I cry.

I wait
for daylight
so I can cultivate
something other than
silence.

I watch
my cats sleep
in the middle
of the night
and
I wait.