Old poems and older poems. The art in here is far more recent - all illustration tiles were made between April 20, 2024 and May 12, 2024.
Some of these poems were published in a chapbook, Eleusinian Mysteries, in 1995, under the pen name Sarah Maddo...
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I cannot sleep.
The wind laughs too loud. The bed's too warm for my quartered self, A thousand displayed images mean nothing to me - I am alone, and fitful, and hollow, Too sick for sleep. I am this night - cold soul, black heart, blind sight -
The willow whips the window glass in a lover's fit. I need your hands, I cannot sleep. Your life, free of mine, has forgotten me - I am my own and I lie crumpled. I fantasize an abandoned doll.
(My sleepless eyes see laughter on each wall)
Two down, one to go - three is the charm that binds and I avoid the third. I've been mastered enough. My illness burns when I cannot sleep, it askes me - catechismically - am I not my own? It sneers. I long to fly. Laughing on glass panes, The rain splatters like mad tears: weeps with my zeroic soul on its void of fears -
An abandoned mask - a powerless thing - a white snow owl without wings - my dreams strangle me where I lie, not needing sleep to take me where they will. I am an ourobouric glyph. Self-eating, I curl unseen. My joy needs so little to go where it has been -
My bed is too large, I cannot sleep. Pictures are poor company to keep.
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