"Manic = Mansion"

Summer between
and the unsaid, rampant
on fired swords,
make me edgy.
Dream of
the once and future king--
reasons I won't fathom.

The full moon mirrored
in the marble building--
Can't wait to get home.
Closer to a chosen
sound, a softer floor,
singing louder,
burning with my
hard-wired blood,
and craving sleep.

* * *

Once home, shedding shoes,
the day in two swift motions,
I pulled on blue
limp to the couch
careful of my feet
cracking open a
cold can of coke
to settle my nerves,
do battle with danger
and sleeplessness.

Christmas lights are
coming down—
makes me think of New Year's,
and husband’s birthday.
But I rush those thoughts
out the door;
they mean people.
No more room for people
at the moment.
Sister's staying in the
spare bedroom, though
now she's studying.
We ride the couch
to familiar lands,
laced in pixels and
decibels.

* * *

Lights have blown,
the cats sleep on a blue
blanket; it's currently their
favourite, by virtue (if such
things have virtue) of being
in the sun, near the window.
Through the blue bottles on the
kitchen windowsill,
the Bolivian Jew,
stronger than the Wandering one.
Wish the basil were doing better.

Loitering outside my front door,
day, waiting, knowing
I'll not deal well,
being confrontational about
my being an evening person.
Reasons to stay indoors:
nursing my mania--
the agoraphobic mood,
the neurotic rearrangements,
the perfectionism that
frustrates the best intentions,
something demanding questions--
and the damn broke toe
with cinnamon toast
video games
cold coke
warm bread.

I return to the swords, the stones,
'cause I can't help it.
We sing Hosanna! Heysanna!
and smile, but she hurts, I hurt,
we really all hurt--
bones, brains, spirits, selves.
I summon forth birds!
Sing me to sleep, little ones,
for my own angel is gone.
Rock me to sleep, earth,
for my own mind vibrates too fast.
Tuck me in for rest, little girl,
you alone remember how.

* * *

I know I'll be awake at 2,
and at 3, and maybe 4, but
when 5 comes, he'll wake up,
then 6 will come, and
neither of us will sleep
further. Insomnia,
you are my keeper,
forgotten and fierce,
stalwart against
little pills
fatigue
wanting
I admire your resolve,
but you're not exactly welcome
in this house, now or ever.

At the end of summer,
this sentence may end.
Fall will come on
I'll continue Wednesday’s child;
winter-driven indoors,
sleep under
faux fur, humming fans,
nest in my name
arrangements of feathers and leaves,
books
threads
pillows
bottles
familiar.

---
10.28.05
MWL