This rotten starry black
exploding beneath my closed eyelids
A dance of death; a brush with heaven
One more visit with the Other Side.
I can't sleep.
Fingers roll deeply into make-up greased grooves
and can barely make out the old typography of my face
with touseled hair tied into knots
from endless hours battling with my pillow
Dead-bone moon peeps into my window.
I close the shade;
I don't much like the invasion.