Wide-Awake and Weary

I am sleeping. Ceaseless
horizon. The slowness of
a stone. Gray steel bars
of silence welded into night.

It's said there is a river,
black, whose banks are built
from dying stars, waiting
is a boat of bone to take us

where the lifeless live.

I am a sleeper more than
I am wide-awake and weary.
Here is my three-headed dog
who has not seen the sky or sun,

here are my bloodless wings
white and pale as ivory, folded
down. Let me be a memory, a thin
laced curtain, a speck of dust,

forevor sleeping, a child whose dreams
are swallowed by the darkness.

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