Flailing
If the hour begins
writing beneath a bright bulb
guard it from the sun
Take every night’s pen
and draw a bath of warm ink—
steep until you sleep
Forget the alarm
across the hall, your dream
stuck in the mirror
Above the sink, face
the door and pretend it’s closed,
that you thought that far
Ahead—words naked
and bloodless, eyeless, toothless
fill your hands and mouth
And all the hours
blur at the edges before
drowning in morning