Yes, well.

 

yes, well.

At 3 A.M., there’s nothing you can do.
When moonlight fractures outlines into smudge
and splinters integers to decimals;
when dustballs shine with what are clearly teeth,
you’re down to fingertips. Then what you touch
is all that’s left of real, and sense of self
shrinks back to arm’s reach �" swallowed in the dark.

At 3 A. M., when every sound sprouts legs
and dreams wear suction cups like octopi,
you let it happen. But you draw the line
at afternoons: as soon as solid folk
grow fuzzy at the edges, do something
(like what, you wonder? Eye-doctor, a shrink?
Don’t ask hard questions). Look for warning signs:

If airports bounce about and you play chase
and dead men leave no body and the fridge
prefers to hum in English, you’re far gone:
my principle of sane is “know thy fridge” �"
personify him later. Don’t forget.
Same goes for elevators, dishwashers
and ticking clocks: they’re just electric, folks.

Like f**k-buddies; you don’t get too involved.

Reviews

[BeckyBoodles]

Lovely.

[NoneOfYourBusiness akaK..]

what a gloriously original romp down the rabbit hole of an Unalice with a sharp bite~ I adore the surreal~ the apparent free flow stream of consciousness~ and your last line pasted a grin on my face~ fantastic!~