nocturne

out in the darkness a lighthouse flashes on the point.
my heart goes out to it, battering toward it against my ribs
like a startled bat.
the lighthouse, my lover, all things indistinguishable.

i hover three inches over the earth,
all things refracted through my distraction
seem surreal, unreal, being temporal.
not that i grow any nearer heaven,
only further withdrawn
into my own imagination,
now tired from lack of fruition.

all things favored or feared,
otherwise unacknowledged:
the yellow mug, the severed limb,
and the myriad of faces i religiously forget -
these categories rule me.

while under it all (or over,
or choose your position, your preposition)
this strange flotation
making a mockery of my material -
calling out from the earth like a mythic beast,
teasing me with alternating delight and perturbation -
should i enter a monastery or an institution?
is this mysticism or delusion?

(incidentally, i still sin like a Gomer,
laugh with my mother, grow tired and hungry,
forget the hour, cosset my pet,
leave my clothes on the floor, open the window,
double-check the back door, email, forget to call,
let my tea grow cold, feed the fish,
forget the fish, leave the milk in the bowl -
oh yes, and i try to impress the straight guy at work,
that one, while avoiding eye contact in the most awkward
and obvious way.)

then, on the edge of sleep,
dreaming or not dreaming
out in the darkness
a lighthouse flashes
my heart crashes
beating my ribs with its wings.
i choke on its violence
i float three inches over the earth
all things forgotten.