thoughts come rushing at me too fast and there are
too
many.
i keep fragments and words on a string
at the ready for easy access and knot my sentences loose
because i can't grasp how to say what i want.
i stutter, sometimes, always, between filler words
to pull what i say and what i mean closer.

i go to bed fully dressed, sometimes with a jacket,
sometimes with shoes, like i've started running in my sleep.
i wake up and my watch has cut into my wrist, but i never take it
off or i wouldn't know what time it was.
i rest only in the limbo before dreaming,
where i'm trapped no matter what. where my conscience
berates me, tells me how much i've screwed
up and doesn't tell me how to fix
anything. i rest for the voice that whispers
loudly in my ear when i'm almost asleep.
few things ground me like that feeling.
when i close my eyes my limbs grow and my body grows,
but my mind stays small. i am a tiny mind in a giant's body. i'm
fifteen feet tall, but i feel fifteen inches.
i'm de-telescoping, shedding, shrinking,
a mass of twig-like bones and a giant's mind, trapped in
a skin-wrapped skeleton. then back and forth. bigger, smaller, back, forth
until i'm gone. faster, telescope, shrink. stretch out of focus.
sleep stumbles over me and stops everything for a moment.

in sleep i am all of the ugly creatures that move in the corners
of your eyes, the people and shadows that hide the second
you turn, pretending you don't know they're there.
i am all the creatures in sleep that freeze and make you forget.