IN THE DARK THE COVERS OF EXISTENCE SEEM FRAIL, FRIABLE
If the lights flicker
does that mean
it is time to close them?
The house is so silent that every sound,
I imagine, must be some internal production.
Because you sleep, must I sleep also?
I’d only lie here in bed, eyes clamped,
like an artery in spasm
waiting for the machineries of living to shut down,
finally, irrevocably.