“Is anyone awake?” said the man in his kitchen.
Is there anybody out there
whose eyes, however brittle, are awake?
Is there anyone there for me?
Is there anyone I can’t see?
What about the people across the ocean?
What about the people across the land?
What about the people by the lakeside,
are they all sleeping?
When will they wake?
When will they rise?
Like Lazarus, or like their sleeping dog?
Yes, who are these people
who are awake and are not speaking?
Are they there for me?
Do they have any way to see the difference they make,
the meanings they build,
the hours they swill?
It’s time for tea,
the kettle, she boils.
The bag has been thrown in.
My cup is not empty.
The chemistry is about to begin.
Who is asleep?
If you are asleep, may you be woken.
If you are awake, may you sleep.
You may be in the dark
ears perked listening for the commas
There may be wax
earwigs waiting to soften and fall
Are you still?
your eyes locked? doorway rusted overnight
When will you ever earn
the flowers in your ears?
Graveyards are singing,
welcome the sound of dawning insight,
clasp the stave of whispering shadow.
Enter the Beast