a chemical problem

I am wide awake all of the sudden, in the dark cold room, driven by force from dreams I can not remember. It is that near memory, that just lost thought that haunts the darkness. It is the sense of imbalance in all things, the world somehow shifted skins, that disturbs worst. The midnight mistakes, the air of error that surround me. They are the only light in those broken hours. It is a chemical problem, and it drags me stitched to its heels.

The night arrived all at once, a gray creeping of clouds obscuring whatever twilight we had. A water-color sweep of weather, then just the bristling silence of all those lonely stars. The cold air pressing its fingers against every lip, things seem to still as the night colludes with the chill. Every sentiment seems remote and distant. A flower pressed flat amongst the psalms, a map of the moon. Every move is a little piece of ache. Every motion a concession speech.

The dogs next door are raising hell-- a cat fight or a surly raccoon. It is part of the landscape, an evening of the expected and the despised. The hours slip past, their motions furtive, their destination a mystery. I scatter another few words upon the grave of another day, having done nothing worth boasting of or confessing. These pale lies, these wan truths, the written record of the dwindling of a life. I am a chemical problem, and I carry it, hidden inside my heart.