Clonazepam, one dose a night

Clonazepam sweat

blotches

the lime-green

blanket.

Eyes

scampering

up the

skyline

of an anthill

amongst

tousled

garden weeds.

Fingers

by the digit

going up the

bony chill

of the air conditioning.

But the ceiling’s

chocolate bar

paint job

makes me

stick my

little tongue

up against

the torso

of the wind.

Which

seemed

rather hitched

at my

parched

mouthed

bite,

Either I

closed the

windows

or I

scared it

away

in

untamed

arousal.

So my

toes

claw

in a curl.

at the

Bedsheet.

While

the orange

Sunset

pours

in a runny stupor

into the mouth

of a

distant hill.

Till the

moon

within the

cartilages

of stretching

night

Plops

on the

desk

of the

city evening

like a fish

swishing

on

wind

into the

hilly mouth

of the

toilet bowl’s

dead.

I can hear it’s

suffocating

murmur,

against

the saran

wrap

of the

evening

clouds.

As my tongue

lethargically

swishes

against

the scratchy

enamel

of my

teeth,

parched

for

it’s

clonazepam

eclipse.

And the

spine

of the

night

finally

Cracks

till the

pill

finds

a new

skyline

amongst the

anthills

or garden weeds

down

my throat.

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