crickets hoard inside cavernous skull
the echo of their burred legs
rub neurons — sleep a winged devil
distant in flight —
inside i am alight, words
i should have spoken chirp
through the long night
around 3 am i rise from bed,
pause to hear your gentle exhalation,
the sound of life creation,
stand under the shower’s despair,
hope to drown the crickets
or at least force them
to stop the incessant friction
at 5 am in bed
on my back
stare into the past
the scene replays
again
what i should have said
straightforward in the dark —
veracious words, white crickets
chirp and depart, leave behind
the should have been husk
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