Shreds: “2am”

I do am mad as I appear,
Perchance morrow more,
Yet thou smilest when I sing
And singest when I speak
Thus I fade into the throng
While still I sense and feel
That subtle discourse
Of hinted logic strong;
Perchance I slumber within
For I have but learned
That each memory seems
Better than a dream’s end.
I clasp the hand
Of the shadow on the bed,
Carved out of the darkness
In our form’s stead.
How doth it feel
To know naught at all?
To not know of arriving
Day by day to steal
A part of me small.
I linger. Wordless
And nearly deaf,
Like a wall to a mirror,
Like a dialogue of eyes,
In search of courage,
Like the very first sprout
‘Twixt winter and winter’s surge.
Thou dost burst forth, at last,
Yank and drag, at last,
The inertia into the bramble,
Into another café,
Into a verse ‘bout thee,
Brushstrokes of pain and glee
And I know. I know.
But this I can do,
This and wait, I can do,
Sitting on shards,
Cursing thy name,
Kneeling on the signs
Of another season’s claim,
Lying on the fragments
Of another song’s remains,
‘Mongst nonsense and cascades,
‘Mongst panic, awe and strain
I am handling thusly
With words and words,
Carpets of words,
Pamphlets that burn
And tremble in a drawer,
‘Mongst cork and candles’ gleams,
‘Mongst caresses and silences
And the things ne’er said.
Still I seem to perceive, it seems,
The breath thou hast forgot
Wrapped ‘round the fingers
Of a trembling hand.
The dust greets me,
The walls chide me
And this tracks embraces me:
I now await a train
That passed years ago,
I sit yet still I shiver
For thy return again
In the steps I take,
In the school days,
In the gooseberries,
In the cemeteries,
In buckets of rain.
Worlds do fall.
All doth fade
A thousand times more.
A thousand times per hour.
Thou dost watch me
From within my skull
But it is late, my love,
And I am but a fool.