Late at night,
everything dealt with, 
everyone taken care of,
I sit alone in electric light
with a cigarette and
a bourbon on the rocks
surrounded by my
weapons and my ghosts.

I want to go to sleep
and dream of vertical
spaces, lush green
dissolving into mist
in the distance, where
gravity means nothing,
where the footfalls 
of angels are often heard.

Instead, wide awake 
with these ghosts, 
hyper-vigilant, the fear 
nameless grips me.
Before, it always 
seemed like the universe
was friendly, but
now I'm not so sure. 



Syd Weedon
10/12/2024