i lived in a time
where the moonlight
was my only sunlight

God, I hate 3am!

You make me late for work and grind my mind into bite sized peanut butter cups.

My thoughts are not a drill,
but they ***** me like Debbie did Dallas.

                     *really? You're doing ****
                  references now? *

*******!
YES, I said **** in a poem!

                  *who are you talking to? *

YOUR MOTHER!!!

always voices at 3am!

Voices like shadows barely perceived on the edge of your ear.

                       *you can't hear shadows *

No one ******* ASKED YOU!


Sleep is a midnight UFO hovering behind an old farmhouse.

You may have seen something... once, but you can't prove it really exists.

Not at 3am when shadows walk like peeping Toms passed your window.

Not at 3am when your eyes are shot and your skull tingles like peppermint body wash on a squeaky clean *******.

What the **** am I saying?

I don't even know anymore.



©Nathan A. Brock 2022

The urge,
For what?
A constant question,
Making home in her dismal dreams,
With cobwebs winding,
In the pretence of productivity,
The rapid beating of her chest,
Hairs standing still,
Unsure of what to expect,
From the light shamefully shining,
The sleep soaker laying by,
Sweat submerged on her skin,
The unbearable alienation,
Unquenched,
Uncertain of,
The source,
Of her poverty.

I carried you with me
All this time
I held your hand with
Weathered fingers
All clammy skin
And cool composure
I carried you with me
And last night
When you sat on my chest
Weighing down my breath again
I imagined that you were an anchor
But
You are only as stable
As my patience
You are airy and insignificant
I give you matter so you can breathe
And you
Give me purpose

I’ve always been a bad sleeper;
In fact
When I was a little girl
And I’d finally had enough
Of wrestling thoughts
and sticky sheets,
I’d tiptoe across quiet hallways
With sleepless eyes
To find solace in another couch or bed,
As if heartbreak
could be left behind
Like tear drops on pillows.

-LMJ.