PAD 2016 15

Late nights and early mornings
my sleep cycle is concentric
a spiral that shrinks into oblivion.

National Poetry Month - Day 30

Is there a sort of death in stillness?
In silence? In turning in on yourself
so much so that you are translucent. Poor
translucent stagnation; this thing that won't allow us to step forward,
we can't always be circling the same decisions.
There are no answers lying in the shadows of circumferences.
What we need is what we dream
desires
those things we have forbidden ourselves from...