Corey Mesler
Return of the Incubus
My old foe, insomnia
returns like
a scythe,
my old philhelene.
The middle of the night,
the attenuated
hours, tight
like catgut, like a single
beam of light.
And that light is both
my eyes and
my sight.
My old foe, insomnia
grins his
death-grin. I act like I
recognize him,
from years past, years past.
I act like
I don’t mind his bedeviling,
his horrid calm.
© Corey Mesler
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