A poem


Tea, sex and whiskey. The dog’s snores

as he runs through the field of my sleeplessness,

paws twitching over each blade of grass.


But even breathing

pulleys my head

from the pillow, my mind

wedged open with stars. The field, its moon a husk,


a tooth I run my tongue round

endlessly. Bordering a street

where night animals cross safely,


where a couple travels the sidewalk, hand in hand.

And my cheek, next to yours, slackens against


the pillowcase. What cures?