i dont want to sleep at night
i am afraid of bruce lee's demons
i am afraid of getting raked off the waters
by claws that bury deep
& there is no last thing i could say
that could frisk the coming pages
i am standing at the bottom of the basket
with no apples left to count
& i missed out on the fireplace
on the syllabic dance of your youth
but maybe it's better that there aren't
any more canvases to weep through
(it's time to go to bed
there's almost light out again
and i will have new things to ponder
as these memories
scatter
with the darkness.)