my demons walk
over my body. purring
monsters press themselves
against my sides. my legs ache
from running away
from my problems. I want
to eat everything
in the house, write
a hundred poems and smoke
fifty-nine cigarettes: damn
the consequences, curse
the day, I’ll sink deeper
into my dreaming life.
behind my closed
eyelids, a black triangle sweeps
in a circular path
like a doppler radar
display. it’s showing me
how far I am
from sleep. is there nothing
that can reconcile me
to living like
a normal human?
