…of nights

 

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June, 2016

I have become an alarm clock,
whose time has come,
5 am 5 am I am ringing
I know you liked sleeping,
so you left,
you couldn’t take your nights
breaking into mornings,
I have no nights,
I try to sleep with your words
gently folded in my soft fists
like your minion tsihrt, your pocketknife
quietly tucked away on shelves,
I couldn’t get the point then,
so they followed me home
I still can’t get the point,
I open my fists
every day but the nothingness
pours into my mouth,
it tastes sour,
and nothing comes out for a while.
I haven’t slept in a long time
I just want to close our eyes
and read poetry.
but these words,
I ring like an alarm clock,
like engravings on a tomb
they are etching on the marble of my body
and it gets colder by degrees
that’s why I should have hated winters
like my sister,
but I am a vulturous pigeon
I will feed on anything
if I am hungry,
lately i have been
gorging on departures.

 

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