How many times must I rinse off the moon

And unpeel the stars from my skin?

Have someone ask what were you drinking?

How many times must I try clinging to lamp lights?

Try configuring keys into shining beacons?

I cannot see in the dark

Yes, blackouts steal my sight

But when finished,

I wake up feeling feverish

And fear ferments and festers

The night can be sticky

Hard to rinse away

Harder to let the drops run off of my back

I squirm when you do not let me slumber

When you do not tiptoe around the subject

When you look out of the window

At that mouth of sky

At the visceral tissues of midnight

At the pulsating and palpitating galaxy

At the intricate veins of my solar system

At the quivering, shivering, silver stars

That dot around that obese heart, titled moon

I squirm when you reach for the telescope

And look

I squirm when you call “it” by what it really is

When you call it by its name

When you call it

I squirm every time

I turn on all the lights

And then, I deny the night