SOLO FOR AN INSOMNIAC
Do you
not trust the dark? Why else
go raging against
gentle twilight? Ranting
into tantrums
that grow full as a
good beard, wild as untamed
night. As the sun of
rage seethes, feel how
rage siphons, drains
against the body's batteries.
The day may be
dying, and the hum
of peace might need
the melody of moon-
light.
Do you still
not trust the dusk? Refuse to
go in search of a
gentle massage, a dip
into the darkening
that caresses like a
good breeze, forecasting
night? Won't peace, not
rage last, since
rage exhausts, flames
against the serene?
The discord of day is
dying, and the sighs
of solace appear to thrive in
the languor of lowered
light.
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