sylvia comforts me
in the times between
fleeting naps
when my heart beats
so quickly
my breath catches
and the middle of the night
is no different than
speeding through traffic
as i grip tight to
the pillow trying to
exert some control
on the lawlessness of
manic derision
squeezing my eyes shut
so hard spots form
in the desperate daydreams
i conjure in hopes
of luring back sleep
until the loop restarts
coffee calls out
along with the commiserations
brought on by
suicidal serenades
from sixty years prior

it isn’t until
tendrils of smoke waft
through the sneaky
suffusion of golden light
breaking between the
crooked slats of these
tragically misnomered
blinds leaking photons
into my darkened crypt
a second pot of coffee
and tranisitoning into
neruda until his
love for himself
tarnishes his adoration
and i see the lense
he writes from is
inwardly directed while
painting a false veneer
hank makes me more agitated
as his drunken ramblings
do little but confirm
my sleepless epiphanies

despite the method used
invariably it turns out
life has killed
the greatest poets
ripped their souls out
in ink splotches of
indecipherable metaphors
cut and packaged their
ugly little hearts into
plasticized daydreams
bereft of original intent
printed onto coffee cups
false messiahs and
half baked washouts can
sip from to feel a
closeness to the pioneers
that walked this road before
the loneliness of
a plethora of beautiful
lines carved from the
meaningless suffering
silk screened onto shirts
sanitized of the blood
that stained the pages
lost between the tear stains
and coffee rings in
the long stretches between
fitful naps grasping in
futility at dreamshards
as the sun reminds us
another day in purgatory
has begun once more