la petit mort

Sunlight creaking through the blinds
Cuts you up into long rectangles.
If only I was in such a deep slumber.

I view this world clearly with one eye shut,
Finger poised on the trigger,
Scouting the next target in a field of ghosts.

In this zen state,
I feel the infinity of the universe,
Gray cotton sheets electrify skin.

Wake up, our eyes level,
But I’m looking through
A window.

This is new age.
I hear the soft jazz static
Sway lazily in my ears.

Dance with me.
Slow, revolving close,
Sweeping my mind.

Normally I would regret this
Within approximately the next
48 hours.

Humor me.
Something must be in the water.
Maybe I’ve been reborn.

During the night
I shed my old skin
Mapped with regrets.

The simplicity of spontaneity,
No focus on the premeditated act.
My advice -

It seeks me out.
Makes me the proof.
Cautious optimism –

Nothing but a euphemism.
This jazz static,
It started fading out.

“Do you miss me?”
Now it’s week two.
The 48-hour window passed.

How I regret you now,
Words broken, bent, splintered.
Barbs of you settled under my skin