Insomniac Nights

Man #1
he says nothing
or so he thinks
he does nothing
or so he thinks
he thinks everything
so he says
nothing he does
Man #2
he isolates myself
within himself
in the envelope
of a crowded room
the waters
draw straws
to test his sincerity
he stays true
to himself
pleasuring none.
he stands on the
threshold
one in the same
no pawns, no games.
What's The Difference
daytime passes
like insomniac nights
when one is
alone and
lonely.
It Was My Birth Day
i caught a glimpse
of my birth day
and it was sensational
an overbearing ocean of
comforting warmth
softer than southern plantation cotton.
there was a taste of thanksgiving joy
tinged with bourbon tears
anointing my arrival.
it was godly.
it was purposed.
it was me.
my eagle had
landed.
Agoraphobia
i'm not afraid of going out
i'm afraid of the return
there's a monster waiting
for me when I get home
the intra-internal knitpicking and poking
and verbal self inventory.
if i don't leave and just
remain in the confines
all is well, and understood.
me, myself and I,
coexistence,
no apologies,
no guessed seconds or
left over entanglements.
a coexistence of me with me
alone,
but with me
so now
i
never
leave
home.
Maybe She Won't Notice
she loved him in pencil
fearing the permanence
of ink.
she painted her trust in water colors.
but
every night
he broke the lead of her pencils
he destroyed
her erasers.
every night
he enhanced
and
mixed
and
covered
her in
oil pastels
in her sleep.
Institutionalized
after they visit
she is so
alive in her
deadness
she screams
"shut up"
to the silence.

"Insomniac Nights", Knut Kargel
Melted Collage, 2012


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