Sleepless Nights
What if awake, asleep, does it really matter?
The walls ache, the pipes creak.
A tinny sound, hollow and empty
as my womb, all the plumpness gone.
Shriveled petal dreaming of past blooms.
Weeping in sleep for remembered kisses
from a child grown who no longer misses me.
Electronic screens proceed with two dimensional images
playing at the brain pan of three,
mining the fertile memories of black and white.
Awake, asleep what does it matter?
Carpets cushion foot falls, dust dances
in stray beams of sunlight, circuits hum.
If life is not soon inserted into this scenario
Death will wed Mrs. Haversham.
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