towards the bed, your heavy hands flopping
on their rubber wrists. Collapse into the mattress,
causing an earthquake that shakes the lumpy landscape of blankets.
Black clock eyes blink the seconds. The ring hangs heavy
at the end of its string, too tired to pull down the blind
to hide the hungry black vacuum on the other side.
Your thoughts trickle into a pool, coagulate into paste,
harden into a scab. A pink fog rises
from the cotton candy bubblegum wound of the world.
A crimson gash slices the taffy corridor in half.
Smoke oozes from the stubble.
The wrinkled hills are swaddled in unwrapped bandages
and gauzy shrubs. The sleepless stony eye
stares up at the unseen ceiling. Your body shudders
without moving. I too remain motionless,
sitting here outside the frame, on a bench listening
to the ice tick on the skylights
above the gallery. I stare into the frozen image
of your pink sleepless purgatory
both of us watching that square of night skyas it struggles to deliver the dawn.