CARVE MYSELF A DREAM

some nights i lie awake
and convince myself i'm fine.

that the breeze through
the metal screen is really comfort
calling me for sleep.

though knowing one thing
and pretending another
becomes a cut so fine and deep
it goes unnoticed
until infection.

maybe it's pride
that screams intelligence
is the only help we need.
maybe fooling the mind
enough times can actually
change its make up...to
renegotiate the truth.

but something is telling me
that i'm so very wrong.

that time has never really healed a wound,
just lent itself to getting used to.

the fact is, we're all of us
bleeding from somewhere ripe
trying desperately not to look down.

in the tiny corner of my room
the curtains swell
like giant lungs
then exhale across the bureau,

the book left open
next to the bed stand
has started reading
with a pair unseen hands,

the slightest breeze
which can turn a page stops,
then looks
for a place to keep going.

the night draws out;
a serrated edge on a blade

and i can't remember the last time
i'd met myself
and had something interesting to say.

in the soft quiet of my sheets,
i do the very first thing
that comes to mind, turning
my head ever so slightly,
closing my eyes,

and carve myself a dream.

...so i'm in rutland for the next two weeks before heading for my 7 month adventure in the wild, teaching young minds how to fall in love with the woods. dear god, i'm bored...i don't think i've watched this much tv in my life. it's a pretty damn good thing that there was a battlestar galactica marathon on before the brand spankin' new episode last night. of course, the sobriety doesn't really help. i feel like crawling out of my skin and clubbing someone over the head so that i can take over their body. i'm so bored that i just called my mom and asked her what she was doing..."big lots" she said. i said "what's a big lot?" she laughed and said that she'd call me back. i guess i deserve feeling like this, having put feeling anything at all on hold for years. a haven't gone a week without anything in a long, long, long, real long time...even my pee smells different...like it misses jack daniels and herion. shit bird, this sucks. but all will be well when i get to the woods once more. and my dad won't have to worry about why i'm sleeping for 18 hours a day. i think i'm in love with the chick from "everyday italian," she's got great boobies.

-m-a-t-t-