nocturne

Midpoint between allspace and alltime
i lie.
Having left the lights on
to remind myself that all things
bend as they pass gravity,
i wait for more nothing to happen.

more nothing does.

Outside the darkness folds its hands towards its climax
and the moans of the night:
distant cars and crying cats and 2am lightbulbs burning
miss the mouth they dropped from.

i feel the fat on my back grow thicker.
My dreams crowd around my eyelids waiting for them to close,
and outside the future walks down the empty black road examining
the preparations for tomorrow.

The blanket exhales another decision:
to lie still longer, silent, ____wait it out.

If clouds are drifting past, they won’t leave their mark.
The bends and curves of everyday objects,
their swirling trajectories
form hugs and affections:
the shapes of women’s bodies-
the only thing that makes a night a night.

Otherwise all you have is: dimmed memory,
the gnawing strain of wordless fantasy,
and lonely men merging into their bedsheets;

silent as the beams of light
floating off the sun,
swerving past obstacles,
that’ll wake me in a few hours.