I was going to polish this up, but of course now it's an artifact of the last days.

[carose59]

[Written sometime in late May, 2004.]

Sleep Withdrawal

Not sleeping,
not enough.
And when you don't sleep enough
things shift around.
I avoid people;
the rhythm of my conversation is off
Talking is awkward, and I imagine I can hear what people are thinking.

And not just people.
The heat of the air on my skin speaks to me, tells me its name.
Water in the pipes whistles tunes I almost recognize.
The petunias ask me why they--softer, fancier, with far more colors--were never loved like the morning-glories.
(Them I can answer; they are my grandmother's flower, & I love them, but they will never be mine.)
The condensation pools at the bottom of my Fiji bottle,
fomenting revolution.
There are patterns in the patterns of the patterns. Messages I know are there
but can't find.
I seem to leave my body; I see myself across the room, moving down the hallway,
losing my way.

My eyes drift closed
and I disappear.

Comments

[melodyclark.livejournal.com]

You are truly one of the best poets I've ever read. I love your sense of cadence in this, as always. Your word choice is sharp and incisive, too. I tried excerpting favorite lines but pretty soon I had arrived at the whole poem. lol Well done, as always.

[carose59.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much. This comment of yours was the reason I thought an LOC in the form of a poem might be the best way to untangle my thoughts.