UNRESOLVED

each time you awaken you

wonder: Who am I?

Where am I? Huh?

all the existential

claptrap, dislocated

memory spattered by

quicksilver dreams--

then the inevitable,

the tyranny that

something means

something

it’s the same

since sweating in

that yellow room

waking to God

the migraine, dust

motes floating in

sun scalpels

relentless, the

autonomic system

awakens, divorced

from the mind, all those

plans–the ceremony,

ghosts fluttering,

thoughts in the wind

waking in

the Florida heat,

children’s voices

riding the salt smell

and rotting crabs,

bonfire tangos,

sunset agony

if the gulf

waking this morning

to what? a bed?

a room? the fear

that you are not

what you seem but

something unknown,

something unknowable,

what language do you

know?

in the end it’s

you and god, the same

unknownness

awakening