SLEEP ME HOME
Some say it’s fallacy
to deny half the time
living here,
in shelter without walls
The obliterating, open
chamber of choice-less love
where you and I
are one.
Some say it’s far
from fact and fiction too,
the eclipse of self,
where angels fall
and demons rise, mocking
the holy dove so true
(but their sleep’s clocking –
If at all).
Sleep, she’s broken wholeness,
peace without a floor,
joy before the chore
and endless sprays
of silence sourcing
each nervous tentacle of life,
birthing multiverse
unreflecting;
the home behind the head;
softly, softly, softly
merging the living
and the dead.
Was this article helpful?
YesNo
