Freaky Eyes

nothing noon

I don’t want to go to bed
thinking of you
in the likely slums of my mind
in that mopey nest
you’d glisten and slither and

then

memory would mill to powder
then rain would turn to paste
then dry and crack
in a cold North wind
one would prompt two and

then

…it’s no longer sporty
my lips would crack and bleed
and empathy become torn
on a neon sign that flashes
‘To Let’

I need to get across to Tomorrow
that there is sun and warmth;
places void of answers not requested
where time doesn’t harshly interrogate
my memory like this

To reflect is easier than
remembering but in the end
I must put this aching typhoon to rest

Nothing Noon
No Stop
Sunny Not
No
I don’t want to go to bed
thinking of you

(c) Seven, 20071208