the witches gather

my circadian rhythm
has always been
suspect at the
best of times but
the sick forcing sleep
has me all kinds of
cuckoo for going
comatose for a couple
months as this graying
bear grumpily sits
replaying dismissals
in the suddenly oh so
sleepless evening
the sleeping pills
did nothing to abate

i understand why
cicadas sleep so long
only to scream the
entire summer
to be dreneched in
the cool dreamwaters
only to be forced to
cling to rough bark
as reality asserts its
dominance once more
is a fool’s game
being forced to navigate
a world that didn’t
even have the common
fucking courtesy to
notice you’d been gone

the witching hour
wakefulness is nothing
new to my circadian
cacophony and last night
i really thought that
i was dying as i got
into the car at three am
to go to the hospital
and after three ampules
of albuterol and a pill
to calm my nerves
washed down with steroids
suspended in orange juice
the red snake tattoo
on the nurse’s arm
seems so vivid even as
the rest after became a
blurred frustration of
dismissals and daydream

tomorrow the clocks
fall backwards and i
wonder if the witches
changed the time in which
they stirred the cauldron
and summoned barriers
to protect their homes
or if they just lay
restless with magic
tingling through them
the way my shoulder aches
telling me it is time
to face my demons again
i need a broom to fly
above the city and let
the twinkling lights
lull me back to sleep

a headful of dreamdander
as my chest aches in
time with my shoulder
not a heart attack just
an overdose of tensions
the third shift nurses
in their coven telling
inappropriate jokes
just outside my room
battling these demons in
an effort to keep the
world a safer place even
when the demons are
creatures of our own
derisive damnations as we
shuffle awkwardly alone
through a hell created
in loving abandonment


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