Asymmetric Sleep




Slumber on Sutro Mountain peak
in a fierce spring Pacific storm
with vaporous wind against my cheek
in a hammock of asymmetric form
is accomplished through short naps I seek
wrapped in a blanket that gets too warm
and moist with the sweat of frightening dreams
amid crashing branches and raccoon screams


Cypress boughs and Eucalyptus bark
wrestle with the wind and gravitate to the ground
my tarp waves violently in the dark
giving no protection then comes the sound
of a heavy limb hacking down trunks its mark
tossing itself upon this idyll I found
and lands meters away in wet poison oak
I whistle with fear but I do not choke


I must truly be insane to attempt sleep
in conditions as ugly and precarious as these
would I feel more safe in a crime plagued, cheap
hotel room in Chinatown with two broken knees?
If not for the tempest I could enjoy the deep
rapid eye movement and inturbulent seas
of unconsciousness found on Mount Sutro's height
where I learn of nature's indifference tonight.


At some imprecise moment between one and four
I honestly don't recall when I fell
into slumber where I dreamt my hammock bore
no snoring lunatic with flatulent smell
but a silent corpse cold to the core
swinging to and fro in the moonlit dell
upon its brow a dried bloody gash
where a Cypress limb decided to crash


When conditions for all the easiest tasks
like travel or sleep or pitching in yeast
are as overcomplicated as when a child asks
about economics like some blind little beast
who can't recognize all the bureaucratic masks
I've lifted or creases I've uncreased
then their accomplishment once simple conditions prevail
shares facility with how a finger points to its nail.