BEDTIME IN AMERICA
Windows take a deep breath,
Reflecting the moon
From their dark eyes
Like dice held captive
Inside a fist of soundless space.
I live in a cosmetic land.
I feed on the insomnia
Prowling the air
I sink between the sheets.
Nights go underwater
And the lights of the city
Limp as cotton hurl
From the heavens
Just under my skin.
Ambition haunts the air
For signs of dawn. I hold
My breath and wait
For the rooster’s crow.
I climb shadows of dream with invisible fingers.
My face clocks seconds of silence
On each numb wall. And one by one
My eyelids open
Like store front windows
Where I will try
To pawn all I have
For another day’s breath.
Published in: THE MIDWEST QUARTERLY