Friday, March 11, 2011

#11


last night
instead of sleeping

it was important

I tried to recount all the places I slept 
as a teenager
so I didn’t have to go home
Home was that hard for me then
Counting doorways and men’s beds like sheep
but not sweet
Like old doors creaking open
Foyers to apt buildings
Back seats
Under trees in the park.
Strung
So tight
the morning sun
would strum me
decades later
I still
can’t sleep
without drugs
and I never  ever
ever miss the dawn.

3 comments:

cheryl said...

A haunting poem . A child should never want to sleep anywhere but home . Old scars never heal . Send you love and healing wishes

Anonymous said...

hiya--are you coming to the bay for sins? leona's busy this wkd, but you could stay on the futon here...
love seeley

ambrose said...

hey you! no, no sins for me this time, its just not how the cookie crumbled....talk soon? after the sins chaos settles down...