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Sleeping

I’m laying here in the in-between of suns

beginning to spin thoughts in the moon sunk hours


unraveling, my loose threads tangle in tiny knots

grasping hands in the dark, which hold me


beneath an ink-thick veil of neither silence nor sound

hearing only the echoes of the insides of my selves


in cacophonic whispers that are never able to agree

clamoring for space, they elbow against the edges of my skull


clawing through grey matter, tearing synapses in their tasmanian wake

before emerging orifical in a blood-throbbing burst


blinding white-hot light-spots refract into spectral color

prismatic against the onyx aura of the room, a collective exhale exhumes


their kaleidoscopic wisps collect into reflections of faces I’ve sometimes

seen in the glass gazes of mirrors or glances caught in an


especially bright window in spring as I blow

past on wind-lifted footsteps weightless in the bud-studded


breeze on my wanderer days that glide on black-veined wings

glowing translucent against the sorbet rays of the sky gone


twilight holding steady as I set softly into the horizon suspended between atmosphe