An island. The campground. Everywhere.
It's just that time thins like whiskey cut with water.
At the sleep clinic, wanting to strip the electrodes off
and glide home. Such feeble means: pill, wine, looped
sea-sounds. In whatever bed
listening to breathing, my body called
by what, jerking, muscles holding their animal
startle. By the Mississippi
in the house of sleeping women, spidery basement,
barges sliding past, my chest thick
with damp. The prophets thumbtacked to the walls
watching as I watched back.