Instead of Sleep
The city lights with their artificial amber
blare like a dog whistle all night long.
Don’t ask the questions you’re not asking;
what are answers but the temporal explanations we throw away eventually, or sooner
when we realize over and over again
how *stunningly* wrong we are.
This isn’t the clenched jaw of desire.
These are not the frozen muscles of fear.
I am not waiting for anything but daybreak’s commotion
to disrupt the stagnant so strong
it fills my nostrils with its heavy ozone.
I don’t want to talk, but I need to word.
They call out of their dreams
for water water in the red desert
and I drip it between their parted lips and onto their scrunched foreheads:
I am the sleepless rainmaker,
eyes exhausted of light in the dark-poor midnight.
I am the collarless watchdog,
biting at my own strange ankles
until I’m no longer a threat.