Epic Poem: Part Four

The world is full of sleepwalkers.
Lumbering, moaning night sounds;
the dark is a place
and you want to leave.

Call them what you will
but you are surrounded.
Paint over nightmares
with falters
and mistakes,
imagination you cannot mute,
every jolt when you fell,
splinterings,
muses.
Anything to keep you walking
Then anything to keep you asleep
Say that they are snapped clichés
and wince.
This is your survival guide.

Your only tactic is to shield;
strategy?
Oh, right.
Walk.
Count your toes like you’ve forgotten.
Replace her eye color.
Capitalize
all the right letters
on every tree
that longs for its branches.



She is…

Well, you could call it standing.

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