Night Terrors EDIT

[dukealien]

To me, the poem is very clear with enough original flashes to hold attention.  Progression from specific to general, mystery to resolution (or resignation?) is nicely accomplished.  My few notes interleaved below.

Night Terrors  Almost a cliche, but right for this poem... a little edgy in that respect.  Revise to more innovative?

As a child

sleepwalking,
I’d rummage through
the bathroom cabinets, spilling
medicines and toothbrushes in the sink.

Some nights, I’d wake up screaming
pinned to the hallway wall
in my father’s bear arms.  Nice play on words (bear/bare)

“Wake up, son. Come on,” he’d shake
me. “Kole!”

I’d eventually come back and sleep
in my parent’s bedroom, darting up from time  "time to time" - could, again, be more innovative here
to time, only to be held back down by my parents
on either side of me.  Is "of me" necessary?"

Possessed behavior,

ever-present in my memory,
in these terrifying unremembered moments,   meaning comes through, but memory/unremembered confuses.  The feeling is not a memory, it's unremembered.  Sense of an unremembered feeling?

there is a feeling.

I’ll never be sure what it is, this feeling.

I’ve tried remembering
the devil for decades.   Meaning is clear enough, but perhaps "that devil" rather than "the devil," which contains other characters. "Demon?"

My blood feels dense, thick, high
like I’m hurling across an ocean to splatter
or careening from mountain peak to peak or be eaten   might need "to" before "be eaten," very far from the last verb here
by an unnamed
closebehind.  Brilliant!  Like a hidebehind, but chasing instead of stalking.

Like death sits outside on the doorstep
and if I just stay inside . . .

I’m unsure of my earliest memory,  Is comma necessary?
but I have three antiques:   just a thought - "hold" three antiques?  "Antiques" is very good.
when mom broke the plate and spilt the beans,
my father stepping out of his truck with my first dog,

and my mother crying behind me.
I was eating lunch from the edge of a hospital bed.

My dad said once, “You probably don’t remember, 
but you almost died from pneumonia when you were a baby.”  Good exposition, now on to the generalization...

I heard a monk speak on death as a slow process
of sense draining from you, followed by clarity.

Might I have begun the process,
of sensory drain
and death as a child in the hospital?   After "spilt" I was somehow expecting "in hospital."  Just dialect.

I see my parents’ deaths.  My fear
of losing them is the same that tore me from my bed
as a child.  My tears have not changed.  Great line.

The unnamed closebehind:
my birth and death
surrounding me.  I want something stronger here - "bookending me," something linear but better than that:  the closebehind is also closeahead.

Very expressive, hard thing for an adult to share.