My bloated belly breath squeaks like
a trapped mouse and rattles
the cage of my ribs like a prisoner
gone mad from years of solitude.
Reality now is just a vapor and
everything I see an emanation
of a spiritual dusk dissipating
into darkness. I light a candle
and the flame dances its way
down the long hall toward oblivion,
where the ghost of someone’s mother
smiling waits. Trees sway outside
my window trying to lull me into
the dance of living, but I am content
to drip down from the faucet of this
room to the drain of impending sleep.
The moon blows a frost against the
window pane, but my eyes are glazed
over with the notes of a nocturne
and I am kissing the world goodbye
with every breath and every slight
declension of my eyelids. There is a
noose now hanging from every lintel
and ghosts now walk through every
doorway in my body and my mind
is very quiet but for the crackling of
a candle wick that’s burning from
a flame that’s disappearing down
a long hall toward oblivion where
the ghost of someone’s mother
smiling waits.
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