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

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