04/06/2017
Day 6 of Poem-a-Day, and I've finally managed to pin one down, more or less. Still draft form, but I'm calling it close-enough-for-now.
Pillow Talk
In the middle of the night
I curl and straighten, angle my
pillow this way and
that, but my heart still thunders blood
through wide-open veins, amplified by
futon, and into my ear.
“You’re a-LIVE, you’re a-LIVE, you’re a-LIVE,”
it shouts.
No sweet-nothing whispers from this whooshing muscle.
“Wasting TIME, wasting TIME, wasting TIME,”
it argues.
“Stay a-WAKE, stay a-WAKE, stay a-WAKE,”
it insists.
My heart, that tyrant, that
truthteller
its timing forever
inverted.