Late Night, Alone
The night now, black as a dogs eye hangs low and covers the house as you sleep, as I ruminate endlessly sitting at this old hospital table turned computer desk, till the sun appears. This creature in me that rises after evening, is being strangled by the rosy thoughts. The quiet here, deep and palpable leans against me as a wrestler might, holding me down. The bed has lost its sheeted tongue and does not call to me. © Lamont Palmer
