In Somnia in Delicate

i should sleep.
i say this as if it was as simple as taking off my shoes
or shopping for bread and cheese
but my mind has different ideas than my brain
and so i sit and listen to the endless drone of the television.

i wonder
if someone can be real
if you are thinking breathing knowing
the same things
at the same time
silent together
passionate
dreamy
do voices connect like hands and tongues?
they might.
why are all the -isms wrong
except feminism?
the capitalists are eating up the oceans
and we are too busy fighting over it
to care.

i should fear my own death more than i do
i should fear life less, perhaps.
one is guaranteed pain
the other iffy at best
and then done
and i hate when i'm trite
and morose like this
and i hate my rambling
insomniac missives
and sometimes i hate
how the world can look in
and see the inner workings of my head
like this watch i had
clear casing, all the parts visible
so that when it died, i cried
and buried in a box in the yard
and told my mother i simply threw it away
because it stopped working.

people get the same treatment.

i want to believe-
this is not news to you.
i want to believe and then when i think about all the things
you fucking people put faith in
pour your energy into, wear like a goddamned shroud
look up to when life is too heavy and beg
to have it lifted
i thank your god
for my inability.

i leave the faith for those
who need it.

night is when i want it least.
when the mirrors are dark and i don't need to look
at anything
i feel your breath inside myself
collective, everything
i am surrounded, here
i am connected to the millions
of faithless faithful souls
who trip like i do
drunken up the staircase
we are
invincible-
if you believe in nothing
it's all that can destroy you.