On the Night in Question

 

Submerged words

   Bubble at me

      Sleeping.

 

        Clay sentences

           Blow apart

                In midair.

 

          Frantic phrases

             Beat their wings

                    Drum my ears

                       As they circle

                        Above my memory

 

                           Creeping similes

                              Sidewalk metaphors

                                 Carry grains of thought

                                     Upon their backs

                             Building hills

                                      I am expected to live in.

 

                                            Poems form cocoons,

                                                 Slowly webbing their slender fragile images

                                                       Around the restless insects

                                                                Of my imagination.