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