A Poem in the Before Choice Disturbs collection

Lean Into The Coma

"In the beginning is deam, and falls of disorder,"
Where I sweep aside all of it with a drag and a sip.

As the flashes appear-- the bright spots flood the senses
and the night is lost beyond the eyes

I can feel it in my step, and the windbrush on my cheek.
The evening will be a physical blur, a mental blur when returned home.

Lean into the coma; draw tight a clean top sheet.
Leaning into the coma is like leaning into the wind

The rush of well-being, a gentle float,
a gradual tilt of all limbs-- the subtle swaning into sleep.

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