insomnia blankets

i watch the abacus keeping it’s 
tally of hours gone by since i last
slept even for a second
and i see with wavering vision all
the rows of rounded beads 
numbering seventy-two.
this is of no consequence to the 
black tar-pit formerly 
known as my mind.

nothing; it is ideal

was there ever anything at all?

words dripping like
hot lead
up and out of your
tender lungs.
i mistook all 
the crystalline mountains 
and dreams,
for more than the
glinting cut
of fool’s gold. 
where my body narrows,
in the the 
thin places
of my wrists, 
i can feel throbbing blood
as warmed quicksand
of hunger
pulsing one voice
“it was a game,
it was a game.”
well, you should have said it was,
i would have played 
but not for keeps.

so phantom-limb sensations 
crowd along my body,
feeling of the 
blessed weight that your
arms and legs carry
as they twined around and 
embrace me.
i only have to shift my self,
feel the slick, light movement 
come too easy and 
suddenly i am reminded
to realities of you,
having never been
in sight.