I wrote this about a month ago

Winking, the night drives on

What with it’s charcoal reprieve and

It’s cradling of our;

My, Yours, Whoever’s mind.


Absence of light is great

For the fermentation of

Seeded secrets we keep, buried in deep

To the earth.


Never mind the stars, they’re

Not listening, anyway.

I am the night, and it’s

Absence of light, which makes

The poor things glisten, as though…


In wake or through sleep

It’s your secrets I keep, invisibly inked

Then stitched in, over



I know that you know,

That I know what you know.


What I don’t know, you

Know of neither. Those questions

Barely even yet thought through,

So as to be assigned a number.


This is why, it is preferable

To sleep; the night needs no

Distractions. From the insomniac

Minds, like children asking, tugging,

Sobbing. No, the night is not some

Sitter. You must find a way to sleep.


I need perfect quiet, when

Sewing these seams. Not

Un-picking the stitches. More

Embroidery over these glitches. Psychedelic tiger re-design in oils


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