09-30-2015, 11:06 AM
The trouble with dying,
kept under my pillow,
evaporates when light
through my window
cracks the broken neck shadows
on the wall,
and abstracts what I cannot abstract any more;
until, the trouble with dying
is no trouble at all.
[i had posted this here before, but as i have recently read a couple of poems about insomnia recently i thought i would repost in solidarity with my sleep deprived comrades - note, the only edits made to the original are the spelling 'any more' (rather than 'anymore') and 'kept' (instead of 'keeps'').]
kept under my pillow,
evaporates when light
through my window
cracks the broken neck shadows
on the wall,
and abstracts what I cannot abstract any more;
until, the trouble with dying
is no trouble at all.
[i had posted this here before, but as i have recently read a couple of poems about insomnia recently i thought i would repost in solidarity with my sleep deprived comrades - note, the only edits made to the original are the spelling 'any more' (rather than 'anymore') and 'kept' (instead of 'keeps'').]