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.