No Longer Dreaming

I've never feared the sea;
not even as it bubbled and
swirled around
my little island.


I've always seen far away lights-
signs of other islands or
reminders of ships that have past
or have yet to.


I watch the fish as they shimmer and 
dance in the cloudy water.
They seem fascinated with the delicate 
far off 
lights.


But I know better.


For I fear the lights more than the sea.

Staring Back at the Dark.

These walls around me are so tall

but my nightmares persist;

an uneasy existence with myself remains

always.

The streets in my head

all wander about;

knotting together 

in the wrong end of town-

but my feet stay firmly, 

horribly, 

helplessly

in the right.

These days of endless summer,

these days of passing worry

are enough to keep my stomach

seeped in it's own blood;

it seems to clearly know,

what I've only been able to guess at.

Each moment falls away

and the rainfall gauge creeps along;

filling, and climbing towards 

nothing new,

nothing more,

nothing gained and

nothing spent.

I remember the idea of the road

the wind

the sun

the scrapes and bruises

forgetting to brush your teeth in dirty motels and

opening your eyes under the waves of a brand new coast.

Heaven exists in closed eyes

and bloody knees.

It seems my scars are fading

exactly when I want them to be raw-

pinned on medallions

of mistakes proudly made

moving towards 

something,

anything.

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Bare Feet on Cold Tile

There are no compassionate breezes

that pass through the

inside of a warm room

in the midst of 

a sleepless

night.

Only feelings of ache
howl through hollow spaces

as I stare back at tossed

sheets

highlighted by a single, yellow light

stumbling through 

from the bathroom door.

Cracked porcelain tiles are

vibrating in my eyes

and I can't help but stare blankly at the

stale water sitting in the bottom of 

the bathtub-

leaving a little

stain

as it dries.

The figure

leaning on the edge of the bathroom counter,

looking back through a cloud of water-spots 

can't be me;

a phantom of insomnia-

a trick.

Imagery fit for a mindful doctor

float around the blurry thing-

allusions to events from the past week:

laughing children,
toys in a rain gutter,
a dead dog,
the seam of a women's torn stocking and
a pile of loose, blank paper
sitting on a desk by an open window-
fluttering in the wind.

failures

and fantasies


in a dark,
warm,
room.