Ode to the Jailbars | The Roots of all Insomnia

Drafts from Death of the Abstract Artist; here's a two in one!

"I am staging a murder against

the parts of me that have loved.

I am positioning the body just so,

to make the crime more real.

No one would believe it was an accident,

I will make my involvement known,

bingeing the empty calories of solitude as

the police chase plays on TV.

And the reporter is saying the wrong name,

again,

for the fortieth time,

She is still the main suspect,

as if I don't have enough will in my hands

to move them to destruction.

I press my face against the glass.

Trees fade into fuzzy blotches.

The landscape slips away,

as I slip away.

Big things become very small,

and I am never in my own body again."

---

"It is night now,

usually the static slips out from

under my bed

and sits with me.

But it does not come tonight.

I am not as sick as usual,

and it is quieter than it has ever

been."