Second hands and pending evenings

Fractures in the window panes like arteries that bleed in colder air so that my shallow breaths are cloudy. Lullabies like needles piercing through the thin veneer of dreams to eulogize an hour spent awake, to canonize the words I hear in nightmares of a dying instant when the silence between seconds writes an epitaph for days I’ll never sleep.

Hour hands and shadows stretching.

Apogees on moonlit walls that echo back the rapid pulse of failing eyelids, and somewhere in the fading night an apparition of the rest I chase is laughing, somewhere in the prospect of a dream I’ve yet to notice implications of the likelihood that I’m in fact asleep, that not too far a morning waits with coffee drips and doves on branches in the sunlit trees beyond my windows singing brand new light to drape upon my body warmth that kisses sweetly.

Minute hands and clouds dissolving.

Clearing skies like edicts of a greener patch beyond this fence, and now I dream of climbing. Now I languish in the specter of a better day I can’t quite reach til I’m awake, waking slowly as the clock-tick singing lullabies somewhere above me unaware the rhythm counts away the chances I’ll abandon sleep for something trying.

Second hands and pending evenings.
Second hands and faint allusions to
A sleep I should have woken from already,
But I’m too awake to notice that the sun has set.

#melbourne #australia

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s