Measuring the Bed

The bed’s miles wide.
Beneath the blankets, fists multiply.
Knuckles spill out onto the floor.
Sleep is flammable; I’m burning;
And so sleep and I also are estranged…

If I could reach you,
If my fingers could unfurl
Their flag of forgetfulness,
If touch could breach the sea of sheets,
Make for shore.
But, there’s only pointing…

Asleep at last, I dreamt the beast
Stuffed in the chimney,
As in a children’s tale.
We chanted pain at it
And watched it pass
Thru phases of grotesquery,
A myriad of masks,
No end to the procession so long
As our chant of pain abides,
Uninterrupted save
For morning light and birdsong…

Planting my theodolite,
I survey the quilted creases,
A stranger in this land without
His crew, measuring the bed
I lay quietly,
Playing dead.

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