Somnosomatic

the cold light of morning
finds him awaiting its arrival
blindly staring into dawn’s waking gaze.
another night wasted
on consciousness
(another year wasted
on meaningless longing).
eyes squint at the harsh glint
of the day barreling toward him
like an oncoming train.
once, he wished to be oedipus
(minus the incest, thanks)
but those days are long past –
blurred together along with a thousand
insomniac nights. a xerox of
memory, moved just as the scan began
so none of the fine print
is readable anymore.

staring out through one black eye
at the blurry stranger lying over me;
in morning’s mourning (at least I think)
feeling the ache of defeat (and the sting of
life moving on).

some wordless tune from distant,
tinny speakers of a radio float through the
whispering curtains (or maybe just
the ringing of my ears) with beams
of dawn.

every morning the same; enough to drive
someone mad
and yet
so frustratingly unfamiliar (a map would
be nice) to both the onrushing day
and the still stranger beside me.