Trouble Sleeping

Trouble Sleeping

Trouble Sleeping

A Poem by Coty Poynter

After the separation, 

he took to sleeping 

on the couch.

It was the one place he found 

where dreams abate

and the voices calm.

Each night, he would switch on

the small space heater. Put down 

a light fleece blanket with two

comforters on top. Smoke a bowl.

Then wrap himself tight 

within the blankets.

And nearly every night,

between those intimate hours 

of two and six, he would wake,

mind awash with projections

of the past, chest so hollow

that it ached under the weight

of being. He’d lay still beneath the

two blankets, irregular shivers

like echoes pulsing through his body,

and he’d stare at the ceiling

that has yellowed from the years

of absence.

You Run It

You Run It

This is the World We Live In

This is the World We Live In