Sleep m o s e y s on stilts
of twisted silk threads,
gossamer that threatens
to give out at any second
before it makes its way
to your weighted lids.
Ambien dreams tumble off
each bedroom wall so awake,
cascading into brain-folds
aching to rest, richocheting
from morning to endless night
and back again, flinging
back and forth the bloody
boomerang of grief and glee.
Your words become that Gymnast on a bar…flawless…
“the bloody
boomerang of grief and glee.”
Your excellent choices add the balance of danger and sweet daring. Well done. This is a delight!
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