21/02/09 “Canvas on the Ceiling”

Head to the wood.
Mattress.
Where’s that grey clock?
Its tiny, ticking titters mock me.
In the bedroom,
Shadows roam,
Sovereigns of the pale lupus,
Fruits of the coin-like moon.

There’s no respite in this:
the imitation of relaxation,
The toothy grin of a hollow promise;
As insubstantial as the corners of my cell,
And woven into the world:
paranoid delusions of sleep.

In this dark cave, only the mindless survive.
The rest? Restless minds, breeding restless thoughts,
Not yielding until the last of sanity
flows into the pillow.

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