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Insomnia

by Wayne Kierstead

I survey the room as if through water with subtle currents refracting shade

And every possession appears unfamiliar

I must navigate strange tides from my couch into the hallway

Walking so slowly, and I am thinking of stable times, and still waters

Of convictions, confidence, and health

And how everything good can still drown when the levy soul buckles under pressure

And where to find the anchors after they go 

I want for bed, and the covering of starfields

But instead I determine to make confession

And so then weep upon my pages a stream of black

Rather than the flow of quick silver

And sitting in ghost light that haunts my desk and den

Bleeding hall light through the doorway silhouettes me- a specter in nodding glory

Waiting for the word tongue to bring the nights release