10.8.17

I fall asleep
not to be awake.
It used to be tired-
ness. Now it is
simply to die
for eight hours
and resuscitate
with the high morning
sun, with the slight
chance that a dream
will trap me in its
jaws like plants
that devour mammal
flesh, like a gnat in
a web, like a woman’s
touch,

for eternity.

Written at 9:55 at night, in my office, in Agoura Hills CA.