Some nights
I just can’t breathe
From a pulse
Which keeps me awake
Throbbing
Inside my center
Felt along each vein
Grown tense
Within this neck
Left stiff
Among pillows
Thick and strangling
Smothering air
In comforts
So plush
Their touch could kill
While stealing dreams
Intense
By which my life
Is threatened
And dangling
Just above me
On these ceilings
Dark with fear
Where white
Is imminent death
And such cracks
Their sullen reminders
How my art
Has fallen victim
To a dependent sleep
Disturbed
When phrases race
With hearts
And morning words
Are wasted
To convince this mind
Its worthy
Of some truth
Beyond its sun
And life
Outside my bed
Like one prison
Soft and waiting
Each evening
I rise startled
Still gasping
For that chance.

– J. Pigno