sleep aid

what does my heart detest, this
whirling, weeping mess?

I feel the sleep-chalk draw its lines
the crumbling towers, cursed vines
my time is almost done.
I can’t continue to run.



we whisper to the nights when we

have any need to spill our dreams

the coinage drains, it coughs and stains

each numbing-thought deserved.

I don’t know why my soul is tired but my eyes crave seeing the world


They say it’s ‘drapetomania’
I call it discontent.
I’ve let ‘wanderlust’ invade
With its courteous malintent.

Sometimes it’s ‘lypophrenia’
With its curious shadowy form;
And disease causes ‘dysania’
(Why can’t I make it out the door?)

Whatever word you call it,
‘Sadness’ works in its place.
Someday I aim to feel happiness instead,
Or ‘joy’- or ‘passion’- or ‘grace’.


Sudden desperate need to prove

That I am me no matter where

Wanderlust; and whither to?

Soldiers wrought of biting wind

The Eastern cold, the northern frost

To weather snow and trials and sins. 
Or boiling heat and thousand suns,

Wretched sands and desert dunes. 

Forests dull or glaciers sharp

I desperately wish to escape this room.