insomnia


Tonight I eat of the moon


and stumble broken towards dawn



through rotting railway yards



along wrecked summer beaches



rattling the dark water night



while rivers of black ink



pour streaming from my eyes


and in the morning light



still burning the ceiling


a bare light bulb hangs itself


over my bare body and


my tired notebook lies



ink-stained from crawling



around in blue dumpsters.

© 1999 Butch Maxwell



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