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Mazzy Sleep



Part 1

Drawings on the wall,

Chalked scripts, the

Slow breaths upon

The cold paper,

Letters running through the margin,

This is the last thing you ever

Said: a small drawing of a cat

In deep, ripe, plum purple,

Two blunted triangles for ears,

A dotted nose sloping into

A pressed mouth,

Two eyes staring blankly

Into the space ahead where once

They saw a creator.



Part 2

They are looking for you.

On the sagging sod of the forest

Floor, the markers

You have left behind

Murmur beneath the arcs

Of their feet,

The footfalls you have left

For them to find slowly being

Blown away in the wind

Like slices of paper.

The more they look,

The more faded you become



Part 3

The oblivious

Search party

Has been

Going down

The wrong path

Following the wrong


Clues this whole time,

And only now finding

What happened before you,


Heading away from

Urgency, ducking

To memory,


You are the heir to

The missing, so tell

Me, were you ever


Here at all?



Part 4

I could hear you, stumbling down the hall

Hush and sniff as you shuffle down

The cold hardwood in the quiet blue

Of the night while I was the burden

Of a mattress in the other room,

Listening to you say the silent goodbye



Part 5

Do you understand

The permanence,

The importance

Of a child in

A world where there is

No difference between

An argument and a war?



Part 6

The town has become

A bleary backroad, no

Longer coming into

The eye of the sun,

The grey border beneath the

Moon becoming more and

More thick as the clock

Hands move away from

When you first

Passed into the picture on

The milk cartons that I have

Begun, slowly, labeling each

With an obsession of caution,


Later you might

Pick them up one by one,

Stuffing them with stories

Of losing a liveliness

You never had

Here, look at this picture of you

It was four days in, I remember now.

You look awfully promising

For a child who’s as good as dead.



Part 7

Sometimes I wonder

If we are the only living

Beings on earth, if

We are the only ones

That think and see,

The only ones

With the glassy fluid

Oozing from our stark eyes.



Part 8

Nobody saw your face before,

And they will forget it again

When you turn up, but for

Now you must be the golden

Headed legend of

The town, every nook and cranny

Your possible hiding place

You are the hand shading this

Untouched land,

You are the she with no name.



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