Insomnia Ghazal

Monday, July 16, 2012

The stop-watched tick. The seconds enough
to reckon, to weigh. The pill a pillow pressed to –

Just a swine flu of the mind, just a little touch, I
confess to a waiting room of lips masked clean shut.

If to bandage is to veil, & to veil is to
disguise, then we must learn to bind our purblind eyes.

Like a grave rubbing, the midwives press paper
to my cauled face, sailor’s charm, half-a-crown a head.

Migraine asserts its pick-axe hold. I draw
the shade & sit, half my days in this dark world.

Cover your mouth, Rebecca, the patients’ blue-
papered jaws crinkle at me. Just a little. Just a touch.

Sunday, July 1, 2012