insomnia in the cosmos' orphanage

night blankets

so the snow shelters the grass

so the street lights shimmer the snow

until the night smothers the light in your eyes

 

neo-liberated child:

the lawn lays its language down before you,

all streets stretch out, stretch ever on, unto thee.

 

the window wont open—not all the way. no way out in a fire. no escape but death.

sleep never comes.

 

my dream slumbers, somewhere,

out in that night. black paint chipping,

cutting off a black canvas.

 

you are free to watch.

 

the night drags you on. you close your eyes,

but snow sneaks in.

snow stings your eyes. the sky bleeds ink. sheets swell up with space. stars catch your eyes. ink instantiates space. snow is shovelled in your eyes, coated in black paint. black paint chips behind your eyelids. your pupils are wells of ink. your tear ducts well up with ink. your bed wells with ink. the stars swim away. your room fills with ink. your window goes black with ink. you drown in ink. the window chips and the snow learns to sink in ink. you drift into the arms of snow, safe

until the light learns to smother the night in your eyes