I feed my dreams with cups

of soup, warm and stirred with wooden

spoons. I let the shadows sleep

in my bed, curled up under comforters,

and try to explain how I haven’t been

sleeping the best lately to my friend

when she calls. You have to sleep

eventually, she tells me, or you will

grow nightmares on the palms

of your hands. I sing lullabies

to the demons that play in the corner

making up games with building blocks and

they call it apocalypse.  I pace in circles

until I’m dizzy and the downstairs neighbors

call me up. They tell me I need to sleep

or I will be walking home one day and will

fall into a mirror. Sometimes, I try, I do,

and lay down upon the bed. The ceiling is

getting closer, the ghosts try to cool my forehead

with cobweb cloths, and even the banshee at the windowsill

goes silent. I wake up most days out of waking

and imagine that I have slept all night.



This poem is a freewrite that came about because I promised to write a Supernatural poem for some people. I’m not sure how much it was influenced by the show, but I’ve certainly been steeping myself in the show before writing the poem…


Leave a comment

Filed under Writing

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s