the back seat of the family car.
as blue & orange neon, tungsten
red & green, and brilliant halogens
whirling-dervish past us fade
into darkness all around. I have a sister and
we are only children. drifting
in the astral seas of youth & language.
“Someone must of smacked him with
a rabbit cross’t his face to hush him quiet.
so that night could still be.
apart from us and lonely.
“Eighty” ignorant and pretty.
“Eighty-two!” predictable and lifeless.
“Eighty-three!” oblivious to reason.
Of that we take both leave and notice
But sleep’s one fault is that it so resembles death.
supernal freight trains like an earthquake shake the sky.
The roar of jet-black jaguars tears the hush-hush
fleshy shroud of sleep
from off us. scattered.
terrified & violent
shadows. schizophrenic fractures split
like spider’s lace across the opaque,
transparency of night.
Then trickle off like rain.
So easily a pebble strikes a windowpane.
the vessels shatter.
My sister wails “What happened!”