you never sleep. you stagger instead through daylight vacancies.
the head rests where feet stand on cracked grounds, where even the cracks are cracked.
and the wish down there makes delusion seem like dreams in rising.
your isolation curbs hate and you chase a dim moon.
chase light like mornings but darkness is home:
because true love is true solitude.
a clay horse your vison loses stride in unfamiliar fields,
as its strength depends on sorrow and paper leaves blown against the hillside where they rot before eaten, upon the mound where sunsets once lived.
a great sea once lived there.
still no one lives there.
the clay horse falls upon a rusty anchor. and you put that anchor in your heart so that you never go to sleep angry.
but you never go to sleep.