this is my house of sleep
the three impossible rooms I disappear
to when the world swells beyond repair
my most midnight act
this bowl over that glass
as order breeds neglect as teeth
grow like rows of night who
want to bite or
elbow out
the light.
-
my house of sleep
where I hide a single breath, the one the vultures
never see, obscured by clouds a million
times over, the pulse
in the ceiling in a dying streak
of karma, the terrible thing that packs
garbage into pillows or
empties my
pockets.
-
this is the third room
in my house of sleep, the place
I'm pressed to when the
spirits storm
reminding me
even giants need crutches
need that same bowl over
that same glass-
a limp signature
of darkness.
Copyright 2009
Author's Bio: Peter Schwartz has more styles than a Natal Midlands Dwarf Chameleon. His work's been featured on such sites as Arsenic Lobster, Diagram, and Opium Magazine. His third chapbook 'ghost diet' will be published by Altered Crow Press in late 2009. See the extent of his shenanigans at: www.sitrahahra.com.
