twenty years have gone by & I'm not living yet
not comfortable in the climate of my home
I always seem to be pulling on sweaters
turning up heaters piling on blankets
when everyone else seems fine.

thirteen years have gone by & I'm just starting
to remember
just starting to sit down shut up listen
to the things, people happening in, around me
really hear; really appreciate,
let myself be moved honestly
when everyone else seems hurried, unaffected.

seven years have gone by since I
stopped being like other kids my age
started walking with bricks in my bookbag
scars on my thigh & the constant threat of pins-&-needles headaches
endless lists & workweeks
never getting everything done
everyone else seems lighter, walking in other gravity realms.

Pendulum beds and woes
        accounts for the urgent night
The clock is choring

Feverish nocturnal motion
Animals thread a little heat through the eve
Aerial beings stir the air
A quick beat can be drawn

Underlying ...
     fear is foundation of excitement
and anxious youth take this strum
        to their clumsy congress

The worrisome world
        has heaped up
The act of days
         distended
The workweeks edifice
        bares a stubborn plaque

This knotted bind loosens in the nights
and desperatly so
        in weekend blowouts

Time
when regarded
          is personally distorted

Time
the machine
          doesn't ebb and grow
It pits mechanism energy
          against its own material death

Night span
           repaves
         the diurnal degrade

The Night is where we can be re-met
            receive our charge
            and obtain a revision