Last night, while you were sleeping,
Just before dream, a man
Slipped into your room.

He was quieter than you.

You were empty on your stomach.
Unlike you, he knew exactly what you wanted.

You are so confused.

He put a hand on your computer as he walked by,
Glanced out your window as he walked by, coming toward you.

Minutes later, you would have been dreaming, snoring.

He touched your clothes on the chair,
To your bedside.

He entered the space
You feel if awake.
Then stayed very still.

He was quieter than you.
For a moment he paused, then
He came very close, entered your breath
Came in six inches, five inches from your face,
Then you opened your eyes.

Why do you forget this?
Do you feel it?
Something’s wrong.














You’re sitting in the dark, resplendent,
With your hand on the phone, but not quiescent.

Like tradition
I am magnificent, radiant, supreme,

But here in the dark, I am weary.
I slept more than enough, but as lights turn out in a restaurant.


Tapping your sides, you walk to the kitchen,
You flick on the light, walk around, tap your sides, sit back down.
You wait,
Sometimes play with your face. I do nothing,
Reach for a photo album, unstick the plastic cover, first few pages,
And all the pictures are the same,
And the light – it’s not night or day.
I walk to the kitchen, in front of the sink, the place where the photos were taken.
It is night and not day.

I wait, it is day.
You wait, it is night.














I was
Feeling
Like
A
Place

Nobody
Lived
In this
Place.

My
Eyes were
Widening

Like a
Colonial
Mirror

My
Face was
A thing with
A handle

I
Showed
It
To people

They
Are on
The subway
With
Me

You are among
Them

I
Call
Them
People

They have handles too
People
In the subway hallways

You are
Among them
In
With them

I
Hold
Their
Handles
They are walking

I
Hold
Their Handles
Move them

In
The direction
They go

They look
At my wide eyes
You
and

inside I
Just know

You
I go for the
Stairs
I can’t notice anything
With my face
On

Get out
You
Get out now








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