Insomnia Man
When he talks
his tongue articulates
with his every joint
words grate upon his mind.
When he speaks
the house creaks.
He reclines
in a slow simmer of embers.
Fog rises where his thoughts
sleepwalk.
The sleepless scrimshaw their identity
on drifting thought-bones
least they forget to remember.
Insomnia man
stammers and slurs
his myopic visions,
his smudged descriptions.
He has prescriptions,
turgid drugs gurgle
in the cold kettle of his mind
where loosely floating parts of himself
swirl behind bulging
yet sewn-shut
eyes.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2022
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