Roibéard Uí Neíll: poem

SLEEP DEPRIVATION NEVER CLOSES ITS BIG UGLY EYE

a mattress stuffed with
skulls & blackberry brambles --
a Hindu mystic
would love to roll his vertebrae
over these ill-thorned marbles.

a scourge of scarabs
can't wait for the sun to pull
corn silk out of his
ears. they drool tobacco juice
in the bedchambers of roses.

the serene smiles of
2,000 year old buddhas
blasted from the sides
of mountains -- the Taliban
kicking me wide awake with

their astral-toed boots.
& i'll never sail high enough
to touch Allah's hand,
or sit in the laps of those
above the greatest drive of all.

where is the sleep of the just?
800,000 souls in
Rwanda weren't taught
the proper technique to swallow
machetes. many

swam blood-foamed streams of
non-consciousness while the U.N.
turned & squirmed in their
prison of positive thinking:
you can't blame nightmare for vetoing

hooks & orange rubber rafts.
maybe the dead are at peace.
but what if the dead
wash up on one long waking
out of the body?

a half-moon gives chase
to Mars across my forehead --
what is this restlessness?
maybe i'm already on the other side.
maybe i'm already eaten by boogeymen,

& not allowed to decay away
to dust, or dreams.