How I put myself to sleep.

I’m more awake than I should be.
No one can make my eyes stand out,
But the moon never lies.

I’ve got lists, and history is coming
Full circle.

Clean the cupboards, fold up the map.
If it isn’t a command, it’s a rocking chair
On a back porch I never had.

Who says spilled oil and means a love poem? Every rainbow is a promise of wet ground.

I want to kiss the mountains you shoulder.

The light above my bed is flickering,
There is a fly making lazy loops near the window.

I remember so much, how to undo a smile; a woman’s hips are not the same as a cello.

I am less like sleeping than everything written, I can’t make my eyes close but the light dims.

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About amyleighcutler

Writer, dancer, vagabond extraordinaire
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