IT IS THE NIGHT
That lets me down.
When the house seems unknown,
the body next to me unreachable.
Some sinister recess has commenced
and I must wait it out. Row my boat
hard against the arcing tide, keep my head,
pay the sandman twice. Welcome the nightly
oblivion that sees me through those no-good hours
between two and four when every failure rushes in—
every folly confirmed.
Big questions slated on the bathroom wall.
Harassing every dust mote for answers; what have I done?
Or worse, what haven’t I?
This stupor could have no future.
I am as flat and dumb as the kitchen floor.
As heedless as the doors.
As silent as the spoons