Three Thirty creeps on alarm clock,
other side framed by fiancée’s gentle snores
four hours deep in dreams.
Anxiety as I first felt it returns,
that monster that has lived under every bed,
Mind kept meddling,
The rhythm of pedals too loud
And feeling legs’ locomotive lunge
Keeps me from sleep.
My explorations’ memories left me obsessed
By the lonely buildings I sailed by
Which shrunken psych center no longer fills.
Dorm like cabins with chilly uniformity,
Appearance diverging only in
broken windows, vanished doors, unexpected overgrowth.
The spooked whispers of summer grasses
Mask a suffocating silence.
The inconsistent presence
Of a red car on my left shoulder
Gives me the notion
That I’m not welcomed here.
Yellow paint, warning weathered by decades’ decay,
I still feel the sting of strength,
Willed to speed from the place which was prison to many
The way escape set fire to thighs and burned up to lungs,
And how saplings I saw in sepia pictures
were so much taller now; casting shadows, insisting leaves.
My ascend is followed by remains of border’s picket,
Uneven and white,
Haunting the grounds like ribs of a man;
weak, left in the sun to die.